Sometimes Untraditional Therapy Is the Best
by Selene Illusinia
Summary: Clint realizes one day that Darcy isn't just his therapist anymore. And he wonders how the heck that happened. The story of Clint's unusual therapy sessions with a quirky former intern that turned into a strange friendship built on mutual understanding and finally a solid relationship of trust.
1. Chapter 1

**I really, really don't know where I'm going with this. Seriously, it's a complete mystery but it was haunting my mind like a bloody ghost. (I'd blame Loki, but this isn't his thing). Anyway, enjoy.**

**-Illusinia**

"Clint Barton?"

A soft voice Clint didn't recognize cut through the air, drawing him out of his head and into reality again. Reality; possibly the last place he wanted to be right now. Glancing at the bottle in his hand, then the drop below, he reconsidered for a moment if drinking while sitting on the edge of the roof of Stark Tower was a good idea. Okay, there wasn't any reconsideration. He knew it wasn't his brightest move ever. No one could blame him though, not with the way they looked at him. Even Natasha looked weary, like she couldn't completely trust him. And he didn't blame them one bit.

He'd killed people important to him. Yeah, he'd been brain-washed while doing it, but he'd still been the one making the shots. The one who's hand released the arrow. No one should trust him right now. And they definitely shouldn't be sneaking up on him while he's sitting on the edge of a roof, drinking. That was just a bad idea in general unless you wanted to be scrubbing blood of the sidewalk. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to sneak up on people?"

"Actually, my dad encouraged it," replied the voice, female and dismissive. Like his surly attitude didn't matter. "But then again, I couldn't sneak up on him."

Finally lifting his eyes away from the ground below, Clint glanced behind him to see who was actually stupid enough to come talk with him. The first thing he noticed was the bulky sweater she was wearing; the color patterns across the surface were simple geometric shapes and a little hard to miss. The second thing he realized was that the sweaters bulk wasn't actually all _bulk_. The girl definitely had a good-sized rack under the sweater. And he really shouldn't think something like that about someone as young as this girl. Seriously, she was 10 years younger than him _at least_.

Forcing his mind from the gutter (where it definitely didn't need to be), he managed to focus on her face. He had to admit, she was pretty. Her hair was a little untamed, but it somehow worked; gave her a more wild look. Black-framed glasses rested on her nose, bulkier than he would have thought a girl like her would wear but somehow flattering. It was her eyes that surprised him though: honest, calm, fearless orbs of blue that almost seemed to look _through_ him in so many ways he didn't want to consider it.

"I'm going to take that snark as a 'yes' to my initial question, by the way," commented the girl, drawing him again from his thoughts and into reality. She didn't seem fearful of him at all as she approached and dropped onto the roof-top beside where he was sitting. Apparently, heights didn't frighten her. "Steve said I could find you up here. He also said you might have beer; I'm hoping that part is true."

One of Clint's eyebrows rose but he tossed one of his beers at her none the less. If she was brave enough to face him up here, she at least deserved a beer for her efforts.

She fumbled a little as she caught it, just managing to not drop it into the dust on the roof. "Thanks."

"No problem, Babe Ruth," replied Clint, his eyes watching her face for signs of insult. He'd never met this girl before; hell, he's pretty sure he'd remember if he'd even seen her around. But if she was in the tower talking with Steve, obviously she wasn't a stranger and didn't have any villainous intentions. At least, none anyone knew about.

The woman just snorted and popped open the beer. "Hey, we can't all be baseball legends. Or basketball ones for that matter." Taking a gulp, she set the bottle aside and refocused completely on him. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume you don't know who I am."

"Good assumption," confirmed Clint, sipping at his own beer. "'course, I've always been told my assumptions make me more of an ass and to stop making them, so maybe I shouldn't talk."

"Probably not," agreed the woman. "At least if some of the assumptions I've heard about you making are true." She offered him a smile before introducing herself, though she carefully kept her hands occupied so she didn't have to offer him either. "I'm Darcy Lewis, just so you know."

Clint nodded, not sure what to say to that. It had been a while since he'd had normal, civilian conversations. At least, ones where he wasn't undercover. "Good to meet you?"

Darcy smirked a little, sipping her beer. "You don't sound so sure about that."

"Depends on why you're introducing yourself," replied Clint with a shrug. "So, why are you?"

"Fury," replied Darcy easily. There's a pause and he can see her debating what she's going to say next. She seems to decide though, pushing forward. "And Phil."

Clint closed his eyes at the mention of his former boss. His former friend. The friend who's dead because of _him._ Because he led an assault against the Helicarrier. Because he wasn't strong enough fend off Loki's mind control. And that wasn't even touching on the fact that he'd tried to kill his partner/friend in the process. God, he was a fuck-up. Just like his father had always said. Like his brother had implied more than once.

"It isn't your fault, you know," commented Darcy mildly, one hand fiddling with her beer bottle. Her voice brought him back to reality again like a bucket of cold water. "What you did under Loki's power, it wasn't you."

"Right," scoffed Clint, voice grim and weary. "That's like saying Natasha wasn't actually the one who killed a bunch of people for the Soviets."

The look Darcy gave him was a combination of 'really?' and 'you are so dense'. It wasn't the look he was expecting from someone who Fury wanted to help him. "When Loki touched his scepter to your chest, it was like he reached into your very soul, right? Removed your conscious, removed your ability to control your own actions, and ultimately turned you into a living doll."

Clint was definitely looking at Darcy now. He was looking at her with a slack-jawed expression that he knew conveyed his surprise. And why wouldn't he be. It was like she'd somehow reached into his mind and saw what had been done to him. A feat he'd recently learned was completely possible.

She continued though, completely oblivious to any discomfort he was showing. "He didn't change you- he blocked part of your being so you couldn't get to it. He trapped you in your own body by putting up a handful of walls."

"So, what, you're saying you've experienced this?" challenged Clint at last, choking a little on his words. "You've been trapped inside yourself?"

"No," corrected Darcy, voice still calm and even. "I've never been in your exact position, but I can still understand what he did to you. And I know how much it can screw a person up."

It was starting to unnerve him how unreactive she was to everything. To him. She should be afraid of him, so why wasn't she? Why wasn't she hiding inside with the others? Why was she up here on a roof with a man who'd tried to kill his own friend? Who's actions had caused the death of one of the few people he trusted. "Why are you here."

Darcy shrugged. "Like I said, Fury asked me to talk to you." She paused again, fingers rolling the bottle's neck easily. "It was Phil's idea, originally. He wanted me to talk with you when they got you back- and no, it was never a question. Phil was determined to get you back. But he knew...he knew you'd need someone to talk with afterwords. His plan was to bring me in when you were secured so I could talk with you."

"So why didn't that happen?" challenged Clint. "If that was the master plan, why didn't any of you go through with it? And why you?"

"Fury didn't like it," replied Darcy with a touch of a growl. "He didn't like the idea of bringing a civilian onto the Helicarrier, especially not to play therapist to one of his agents."

"He has trained staff for this shit," pointed out Clint. "And a military complex isn't a place for a civilian."

"After the attack, Fury felt the same way," confirmed Darcy, face still drawn into a scowl. "That's why he left me in Norway with Jane rather than coming to get me like he was supposed to."

Clint nodded, eying Darcy wearily. Apparently, Fury had changed his mind. What Clint wanted to know, and what Darcy still hadn't told him, was why. "Apparently he changed his mind. Now, why you?"

Darcy shrugged a little. "Like I said, it was Phil's idea."

"Right," growled Clint, "'cause Coulson would ask a civilian to play therapist."

Again, she shrugged. "I'm pretty sure Phil picked me because he thought it'd be easier on you." Tilting her head back, she finished the beer he'd handed her and stood. "And there's two things I already know: you don't trust me and you're wondering why I'm not afraid of you."

He raised both his eyebrows while simultaneously attempting to keep his panic down. Seriously, how the hell did she figure out what was going through his head? The whole mind-reader theory was starting to look less like horse crap by the minute.

Offering him a faint smile, she waved slightly as she turned to walk away. "Fury still wants you to talk with me, but clearly you need to talk with him before we do. Come find me when you're feeling a little less defensive. I promise, I don't bite." With that, she slipped through the door that led onto the roof, leaving him sitting at the edge of the building feeling somewhere between a little scared and borderline violated. Seriously, who was this girl?


	2. Chapter 2

"So Fury said he hasn't heard from you. I'm surprised." Darcy's voice cut easily through the room, startling Clint enough that he almost fell from where he was hanging in the rafters from his knees. "I'm going to assume you either haven't had time to talk with him or decided you don't care why he sent me to you."

Glancing down, he offered her a touch of a scowl. "Are you following me?"

"Dude, does it look like I'm following you?" countered Darcy, gesturing to the tank top and sweat pants she was wearing. "I'm here to work out, same as you. It is a _gym_ after all."

She strode through the room as she spoke, approaching the human-shaped floor-mounted punching dummy he and Natasha used to practice their hand-to-hand. Well, when they weren't using each other. Sometimes, he wondered if they had a problem given their relationship seemed to be based on beating the crap out of each other.

"It's also almost midnight," pointed out Clint with a scowl, resuming the crunches he'd been doing upside down. "Most people are asleep at midnight."

Darcy just shrugged. "Maybe I can't sleep."

"So you're gonna come work out?" challenged Clint. "That sounds like a load of bull."

"Nervous energy," explained Darcy as she executed a particularly nice series of roundhouse kicks to the side of the dummy. "Gotta work it out some how and that Xbox combat game wasn't doing it tonight."

Both of Clint's eyebrows rose as he dropped back to the rest position again. "You're the one who keeps playing Street Fighter in the middle of the night?"

"That'd be me," confirmed Darcy as she switched to moving through a series of punches and kicks. "You sound surprised."

"I've been trying to find that culprit for a week," growled Clint. "You keep beating my high scores. I thought it was Tony!"

Darcy scoffed, turning to look up at Clint. "Please, Tony sucks at that game. For all his mechanical brilliance, he can't figure out the exact configuration to execute the moves. I actually caught him fiddling with the kinect in an attempt to improve it's range."

"Sounds like Tony," agreed Clint with a scowl. "It can be buggy, though."

She shrugged and spun suddenly to unleash another series of kicks and punches to her target. "I don't have much trouble, but I've logged a lot of hours with that thing, too. There's not much to do in Norway, and going outside is kinda a bad idea."

"It's not that bad," argued Clint with a shrug.

"Then clearly you were in a different part of Norway, because the place we were averaged at -20 degrees Fahrenheit during the day," countered Darcy. "And I'm not exactly a trained super-spy who here."

"That part I won't argue," muttered Clint as he curled himself up to grab the bar over his head and slide his legs down so he was hanging upright again.

"Eh, wouldn't want to be," replied Darcy, to Clint's surprise. He hadn't thought she'd heard him. "Super-spydom isn't as cool as everyone makes it out to be. It's actually a lot of blood, broken bones, and nearly dying. I'll pass."

Clint dropped to the ground and spun to look at the woman who was still beating the crap out of her punching bag. "You've been talking to 'Tasha." He had to admit, he felt a little betrayed by that. Fury wanted her to be some kind of strange therapist to him, so why was she talking to his partner? Trying to weasel more information out about him?

"Phil, actually," corrected Darcy. "He used to tell me what he could about ops and even brought home some reports on occasion for me to read. With all classified information blacked out, of course. It didn't sound fun." She threw one last punch and turned to face him, cocking her hip slightly. "It's part of why I went into poly sci actually, the hope that maybe someday people like you, Agent Romanov, and Phil wouldn't have to do as much dirty work."

"That's a dream," snorted Clint. "People don't work like that; they're always out for blood."

"Not gonna disagree," stated Darcy with a shrug. "That's why I'm applying for law school. International law is probably the closest I can get to making a difference. Well, without just nuking the hell out of everything that is."

Clint shrugged. "The Council tried to do that during the whole 'Battle of New York' thing, but only targeted New York."

"According to Steve, Hydra tried to do something similar back during World War II targeting major cities," cited Darcy as she turned back to the upright punching bag. "Thank god the man has a martyr complex."

"Yeah, world would be a little different now if he didn't," agreed Clint, eyes watching as Darcy went through another series of exercises. "You know, you'll get better if you spar with someone."

Darcy landed one last roundhouse and turned to face Clint, one eyebrow cocked. "I know. You volunteering?"

He shrugged a little, glancing at the clock. "Shouldn't you get back to bed?"

"I'm not sleeping again tonight," dismissed Darcy, her flippant tone almost overshadowing a touch of fear that leaked into her voice. Almost. "You?"

"Figured I'd try to get a few hours," replied Clint, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Shrugging, she moved to the mat and took up a starting position. "Maybe another time then. Don't want to keep you from your beauty rest."

Clint stood there a moment longer, watching her go through a series of moves that he guessed were basic karate or self-defense mixed with something else. "So what, no questions this time?"

Darcy dropped her foot to the mat and pulled the other one up beside it, turning to face him. "Tonight's not good for me. Plus, you look like hell. And I'm willing to guess I'm not the only one suffering from nightmare-based insomnia tonight. Either way, it's not a good time to start discussing what essentially qualifies as mind rape."

"Well, when you put it that way," grumbled Clint with a bit of a wince. He hadn't exactly thought about what happened to him like that, but it was an apt description. Which made the whole thing worse in the end.

"It's pretty much the truth though," reminded Darcy, her voice going soft. "I know you don't want to hear that, but it's true. And here's the thing: something like that? It ends. And when it ends, it leaves scars behind burned deeper than any caused by a physical injury."

Sighing, her eyes dropped to the back wall of the room. "Mind control, emotional abuse, mental torture and abuse, they're all more damaging than physical abuse or force could ever be because the person who's suffering from it doesn't know if it's their fault or their abusers fault. If their actions reflect any kind of a deeper urge on their end or if it's all on the person who hurt them."

Looking at him again, she met his eyes pointedly. The sense that she was probing his mind came back full-force. "And perhaps worst of all: it's hard to fight back against, sometimes even impossible, because you don't always realize when it's happening until everything is done. Then, you don't know why any of it happened. Or if everything you did was your fault or your abusers."

She took a deep breath, looking away again. This time, her eyes fell on the punching bag she was using before. "It's a hard thing to over-come, especially when you can't trust yourself to actually _be_ yourself and not someone else's doll." Her eyes rose to his once more, determined and filled with belief in him for one reason or another; the emotion almost managed to hide the pain, knowledge, and hint of memory which hovered at the edge. "It can be done, however, there's always a time and a place for it. And a night when you've suffered a nightmare related to your mind-control isn't it. Just, trust me on that."

Clint stared at her for a moment, actually taking the time to look at her rather than just see there was someone there. He'd known she was young and that she was originally Foster's intern (now apparently Pepper's from what Thor had told him). What he wasn't sure anyone knew was that she'd already aged beyond her years. Before there had been hints of it in her tone, little clues in her comments. Statements like 'I've never been in your exact position but I can understand' held more truth coming from her than most witness accounts and classified government reports. Then there was the fact that Phil had apparently paid special attention to her, in the non-perverted way from the sounds of it. And Fury, too. Having their attention meant there was something special about her. And her words just now- her description of the thoughts that had been running through his head since they'd taken Loki down- spoke volumes about her life. Her experience. Somehow, someone had fucked with her in a way similar to how Loki had fucked with him.

"So you don't want to talk about me tonight," summarized Clint, careful to maintain eye contact with her. "Then tell me about yourself."

For a moment, she looked torn between bolting and accepting his offer. If what she'd faced was anything like what he had though, he couldn't blame her. So far, she hadn't pressed him for any information; all she'd done was talk with him a bit here and there. It was different from how every shrink and head doc he'd seen so far had handled him. Again, it spoke to her having a similar experience.

"Quid pour quo," offered Darcy finally, crossing her arms over her stomach. "I'm here to help you, not burden you with my own story. But, if you'll feel more comfortable, I'll show you my scars if you show me your cuts and bruises."

It was Clint's turn to pause as he considered her words. He had to admit, even having just meet Darcy, she made him want to talk a little. Not tell her everything of course, but get some of it off his chest. Talk about some of the things he didn't think even Natasha could understand. Some of the weight that was constantly pressing on his chest. "When I say stop, we stop."

"When either of us says stop, we stop," corrected Darcy. "The pain doesn't disappear, it just eases with time."

"Deal," agreed Clint, offering his hand to her.

She eyed the appendage for a moment, like she wasn't sure she wanted to touch him or not. It was the same reluctance he'd seen others show when dealing with him and he almost withdrew his hand completely. Maybe she was more scared of him than he thought. Those concerns were obliterated a second later though, when her palm came into contact with his, fingers wrapping uncertainly around his hand as if she wasn't used to touching other people in any context. Even if she was afraid of him, even a little, she was willing to push through it and give him a chance. "Deal."

Clint nodded and withdrew his hand quickly. If she didn't want to touch him, he wasn't going to prolong the contact. "I'm going to assume you still don't want to start tonight."

"No," confirmed Darcy. "Tomorrow. If you want, we can start tomorrow."

His feet shuffled slightly as he shifted his weight, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "What time do you want to meet?"

Darcy shrugged, tucking her hand back across her torso. "I'll come find you at some point ."

"No prearranged time?" asked Clint, brow furrowing. He knew she wasn't a therapist or shrink, but didn't she at least feel the need to schedule this stuff?

"No point," explained Darcy. "Prearranged times get people in the habit of thinking they can only talk about things or only need to talk about them during a set period of time. The reality is that the scars left from mind-control can effect anyone at any time and they need to feel comfortable with that fact. More importantly, they need to be comfortable talking with someone about what happened whenever they feel the need to talk. I'm not a shrink and I won't pretend I am one. I'm definitely not going to do things I know won't help."

Clint blinked at her for a moment, not sure what to make of her explanation. Then, he nodded slowly and grabbed his towel from where he'd thrown it earlier. "I guess I'll see you sometime tomorrow then."

"Today," corrected Darcy, glancing at the clock. "It's past midnight. But yeah, you'll see me eventually."

"Right," muttered Clint. "Night then."

"Night," replied Darcy, turning back to the mat and retaking the starting position from earlier. Clint took a moment longer to look at her before turning to exit the gym.

He couldn't believe he'd actually agreed to talk with her, but he would say this: if there was anyone who had a snowballs chance of understanding what he'd been through, it was the girl he'd just left practicing martial arts in the gym at 1:00 am. And if she could help fix his head, actually help him get it back on straight, it was maybe worth trying.


	3. Chapter 3

"I didn't think you would enjoy movies involving that many explosions, having been exposed to actual battle and all," commented Darcy as she wondered into the room

Clint shot up on the couch, blinking at her over the back. Apparently, he'd crashed out during the movie. "You need a bell."

She just shrugged and tossed him a carefree smile. "People say that about Phil, too." Her smile fell with her words, voice dropping to almost a whisper near the end. For a moment, she paused near the back of the couch, throat visibly constricting as she gulped. "I mean, said. They said he needed a bell."

At the mention of his former boss, Clint winced. Guilt assaulted his mind immediately, bile rising in the back of his throat. Still, the look on Darcy's face somehow made it easier to pull himself together. "Yeah, we all thought he needed one. Even got him a human-sized cat collar with a bell as a joke."

A touch of a smile pulled at Darcy's lips, a chuckle falling from her lips. "So you guys were to blame for that, huh? I knew he was lying when he said he needed it for a mission once."

Clint paused, considering her words and everything else he knew about her so far. He'd already guessed there was some kind of connection between her and Phil, and that the connection probably wasn't work related. Phil never had talked much about his home life, but Clint couldn't recall him having a family either. "What was your connection with him, anyway?"

"Phil saved my life," replied Darcy simply before flopping down sideways into a chair. "So, ready to talk?"

"Uh, yeah," stuttered Clint a little, head spinning with the sudden topic change. Though he couldn't be sure, that was probably her way of saying 'stop' without saying it.

Reaching forward, he grabbed the remote to flip off the movie, but Darcy stopped him before he could. "Leave it on." At his raised eyebrow, she explained. "The conversation will come and go. We'll want something on to fill the silence, otherwise it'll get overwhelming."

Clint nodded, turning down the volume instead and laying back on the couch, head next to the chair she was sitting in. "You have the weirdest therapy methods."

"I wouldn't call them 'therapy methods'," corrected Darcy, "more like 'homegrown methods of talking about difficult shit'."

"Sounds better than 'therapy methods'," muttered Clint with a sigh. "So, what, you just want me to start talking about what happened?"

Darcy shook her head, rolling it so she could look at him. "Not unless you absolutely want to. Not yet, anyway."

Both of Clint's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Without much thought, he rolled over so he was on his stomach rather than his back, staring at the woman lounging next to him. "Seriously?"

"No one _wants_ to relive something like that," pointed out Darcy. "I figured we'd start with going through what you've been afraid you're gonna do since Mr. I-Wanna-Be-A-Billy-Goat's 'take over the world' stunt."

"Okay, this definitely isn't SOP for any therapist," stated Clint. "Where did you learn your methods from?"

Darcy's eyes darted back to the TV, her voice dropping as she explained. "Phil. He's the one who helped me after everything."

Clint gulped a little, nodding once sharply. "That sounds like him."

"Yeah," whispered Darcy. "He always knew when to push and when to back off."

His eyes slid back to the TV screen and, for a few minutes, neither on said a word. Of course, he was the first to break the silence. "You two were close, weren't you?"

Darcy nodded, eyes also locked on the screen. "After he and Fury rescued me, I didn't have anywhere to go. So, he let me move in with him."

"That sounds like Phil," muttered Clint with a touch of a smile. "How old were you?"

"Ten," replied Darcy quietly.

Clint felt his jaw hanging open a little; it wasn't exactly what he expected. He'd figured she'd say sixteen or seventeen. Maybe fifteen. But ten? That meant that she would have been living with Phil for almost eight years before she went to college, assuming she left at 18. And ten...ten was way too young to have to go through anything like what he had. "Shit."

"Yeah," muttered Darcy, rolling her head back to look at him. "What are you afraid you're going to do?"

The question was somewhat out of nowhere, but he recognized the subject change for what it was: her way of saying 'stop'. Besides, it _was_ what they'd been originally discussing.

For a moment, he fell silent and just let his mind try to sort through everything. Her question was a lot more specific than he'd expected, which made it easier to answer. "Hurt someone again. Not someone who deserves it, but someone who doesn't. A friend or fellow Agent."

"Someone like Agent Romanov," summarized Darcy knowingly. She offered him a touch of a smile, soft and reassuring. "It's scary to think about potentially hurting someone you care for."

"Especially after I hurt so may people," muttered Clint, his voice trailing off a bit as a car went flying off a cliff with the protagonist rolling out just in time. "I don't wanna do that again, but I'm afraid I will."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Darcy nod in response to his statement. "Loki doesn't have any control over you anymore."

Clint snorted. "I'm not sure about that one."

"Why?" asked Darcy, her eyes lacking any judgment, hatred, or anger. All he could see was understanding and a calm curiosity.

Well, in for a penny, in for a dollar. Or was it a pound? He never did understand British turns of phrase. "I can hear his voice sometimes, whispering in the back of my mind. Calling me useless, pitiful, murderer."

Darcy's brow furrowed deeply for a moment. He just used it as a chance to watch her mind work. Her face was far more expressive than she probably even knew it could be and he was starting to find the way it changed interesting. When she did speak, her voice was uncertain and a touch fearful. "Clint, did- did anyone in your family abuse you?"

Okay, that wasn't what he was expecting her to ask. Or even the conclusion he expected her to draw (no matter how true it was). The mind-reader theory was becoming more and more likely with each meeting. "Uh, yeah. Long- long time ago."

Slowly, Darcy nodded, her eyes sliding shut a little. "Mind telling me who?"

"My dad," replied Clint, growling a little. "Fucking drunken bastard."

Darcy winced, her body tensing up at his harsh tone. "I'm starting to see why Phil thought we'd connect." Sighing, she took a deep breath. When her eyes opened again, her blue orbs were filled with understanding. "You probably won't believe me when I say this, but it's not Loki's voice you're hearing: it's your fathers."

"No," objected Clint, shaking his head firmly. "I'd know that bastard's voice anywhere."

"It's Loki's voice, but your father's words," explained Darcy. "It's your father that's speaking, even if it's not his voice you're hearing. Your mind lumped your father and Loki together, meshed your memories of both into one person. They both did terrible things to you, took away your power to defend yourself in different ways. It's the same act though, no matter how different the methods. So your mind linked them together as one person, one monster."

For a moment, he just let her words sink in. Let his mind process everything she said. He agreed the words were his father's; he'd heard them too often as a child before his parents died. But the idea that his mind had compressed his memories of Loki and his father into one person, one voice that haunted his mind...had that voice been there all along? If what she was saying was true, that voice should have been there from the beginning.

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember if his father's taunting words had always hung at the edge of his mind like that. And found it was true; every time he failed, missed a target or lost a trail. Every time he failed at his job or in the circus, his father's voice had mocked him from some corner of his mind. A voice that had disappeared after Loki took control of his body. Disappeared, only to be replaced by that of Thor's bastard brother. The words were the same, the voice was just different. She was right.

"You're right." He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice, and he didn't bother to try. She'd figured it out; he wasn't going to pretend like he wasn't surprised about that. "It's not Loki at all."

Darcy nodded gently, eyes returning to the TV. For a long time, they didn't say a word. People ran across the screen in chaos, fire and explosions destroying the city painted in pixels before them. When the silence was broken again, it was Darcy that broke it. "Loki doesn't have any more control over you; his influence is long gone. Even the traces of it have vanished. He can't make you do anything anymore."

"It doesn't feel that way," muttered Clint, lifting his eyes back to the woman he was starting to wonder more and more about. "It feels like he's still there."

"You're expecting him to be there," explained Darcy gently, her eyes meeting his again. "He's not, though. Everyone acts like he is, and that's not helping anything, but I promise you, he's gone."

Clint felt his temper rising a little, glaring slightly at Darcy. Of course, he knew she was only trying to help him, but she was ignoring what the man had done to him. If Loki could take control of him like that, who could say that he was completely free of the influence? "And how do you know? Are you an expert in alien mind control techniques?"

One of Darcy's eyebrows rose in response, shooting him a 'really?' look. "I don't think I'd want to be the person who had that job title." The snark helped a little, breaking the tension that built through their conversation. "And no, I'm not. But Phil explained what happened and I saw what he did on the tapes. It's not hard to figure out how he took control of your body. And I can tell you right now, there's no trace of it left. His scepter left physical evidence of it's actions; that evidence is gone."

"He took control of my mind," growled Clint, rolling to his feet angrily. He was carefully not to stand over her though; not to crowd her. No amount of anger could make him that big of a bastard. She wasn't the enemy here, and he knew it even if his mouth didn't seem to. "He got inside my head and played with things. And you expect me to believe that just because my eyes aren't freaking glowing any more, somehow I'm free and not a danger to my teammates?"

Darcy sighed, flipping her legs backwards over the chair and landing on her feet. Straightening, she locked eyes with Clint. With both of them standing, it evened the playing field between them. "There were more physical signs besides just the glowing eyes. You're free from his influence, what you need to free yourself from is your doubt and guilt. Those are more sturdy chains than any magic could ever produce." Turning, she waved at him as she headed for the door. "Get some sleep. We'll talk again some other time."

Once she was out of sight, Clint collapsed on the couch. Without the adrenaline, the anger, guilt flooded his system. Guilt and gratitude. Guilt that he'd gotten angry with her when all she was trying to do was help and gratitude for the fact that she seemed to understand; that she knew when to stop pushing a subject without being told. When to postpone their conversations and give him a break. It wasn't like with the S.H.I.E.L.D shrinks at all, the ones who pushed him until he snapped. And for that, he was beyond grateful.

"Next time," he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. "Next time, I won't get mad."


	4. Chapter 4

"I heard you've been associating with Jane's former assistant," commented Natasha as she wondered into the kitchen. "Care to explain?"

Clint looked up from the coffee maker, one eyebrow rising in question at his partner. "Fury wants her to help me though some shit."

It was Natasha's turn to raise one eyebrow at him, the elegant curve capable of catching anyone's attention. "Why her?"

"Apparently it was Coulson's idea," replied Clint quietly, his attention returning to the coffee maker. "He thought she could help me for some reason."

Natasha hummed a little, her eyes boring into his back. "Don't upset her like that again."

"Huh?" asked Clint, turning back towards his partner. "What are you talking-"

"We invited Darcy to come shopping with us yesterday," cut in Natasha, angry gaze leveling at him, "but she turned us down. She was upset. Pepper checked the security feed; we saw you shout at her. Don't do it again."

Clint's shoulders sagged a little in relief. Natasha thought it was something that he'd said to Darcy that upset her, a fact he knew was false. It was still his fault of course, but there wasn't much he could do about it unless he told Darcy to stop trying to help him. And Fury wouldn't let that happen. "It wasn't that, Tasha. She...helping me is dragging up some of her own demons. It's the content of our discussions, not anything I said to her, that upset her."

Natasha's brow rose in disbelief. "And what, pray tell, is the content of your conversations?"

"What happened when I was under Loki's control mostly," replied Clint, voice surprisingly level. Talking with Darcy must really be helping more than he thought it would. "She's helping me through the after effects."

"Why?"

Jane's voice startled Clint, his eyes cutting to the doorway just behind Natasha. To his surprise, both Jane and Pepper were standing there. Based on the look Jane was giving him, she'd heard most of the conversation. Pepper, on the other hand, looked less surprised and more worried.

"Does it have something to do with why Phil raised her?" asked Pepper, surprising everyone. Natasha and Jane both turned to stare at the CEO, who just shrugged a little. "Phil approached me after the incident with Thor and asked if I needed an intern. I told him we were always looking for interns, but Tony wouldn't work with anyone. He handed me Darcy's resume and said 'I don't mean in your technical department. My adopted daughter recently got mixed up in something I'd rather keep her away from. I was hoping you might have an opening on your staff that would be more in line with her skills'." Stepping into the room, Pepper headed for the refrigerator. "She was perfect for our PR department and I fully intend to make her my assistant as soon as Fury gives her back."

Natasha's eyebrow rose in surprise. "You didn't ask why he took her to begin with?"

"Phil is the one who came and got her," explained Pepper. "I wasn't going to ask why he needed his daughter back. I assumed it had to do with whatever Tony was getting mixed up in."

"He sent her with me to Norway," stated Jane, clearly in shock. "Why didn't she tell me Agent Coulson was her father?"

"She probably assumed you'd assume Agent was having her spy for him," cut in Tony as he wondered into the kitchen. "Least, that's what I'd assume."

"That's what you did assume when I hired her," pointed out Pepper. "Remember?"

Jane shook her head, groaning in frustration. "I can't believe Darcy didn't tell me Coulson was her father."

"Adoptive father," reminded Natasha. "And Stark's perspective is a valid one. However," turning, she leveled her 'you will tell me what I want to know now or face my wrath' look at Clint, "I'm more curious as to how she came to be adopted by Coulson."

Clint just shrugged. "I don't know; she hasn't told me." Pausing, he locked eyes with Natasha, returning her look with his 'I'm not telling you jack' one. "Besides, our conversations might not be protected legally, but I'm not telling you anything she says in confidence. Her secrets are hers to tell."

"Who's got secrets?" asked Darcy curiously as she walked into the room. "And why are we exchanging secrets about other people?"

"We aren't," replied Natasha, turning interested eyes on Darcy. Behind the former lab intern, Steve, Bruce, and Thor entered the kitchen. "We're wondering about what secrets you're keeping, Darcy."

Both of Darcy's eyebrows shot up. "My secrets?"

"Secrets?" repeated Steve, brow furrowing. "What secrets?"

"Secrets can be dangerous," commented Bruce mildly, heading for the stove and the kettle he kept there.

Thor's eyes widened slightly as he turned towards Darcy. "Lady Darcy, are you in trouble? Do we need to act on your behalf in a matter?"

"Dude, seriously?" asked Darcy, cocking an eyebrow at Thor. "How did you get from 'secrets' to 'acting on the behalf of another'? Actually," one of her hands came up to halt Thor's response, "don't answer that. And what makes anyone think I'm keeping secrets?"

"Well, you certainly don't have any background that would allow you to assist Clint with his various issues that I'm aware of," countered Natasha. "And I don't see Fury asking you to help Clint unless he thought you could. So, I'm assuming that you're keeping something from us."

Rolling her eyes, Darcy moved to stand next to Clint, fishing a coffee cup from the cupboard. "A) Phil is the one who volunteered me to help Clint, not Fury. Fury thought it was a bad idea to get a civilian mixed up with S.H.I.E.L.D. business. B) I'm not hiding anything, I'm just not volunteering the information either. And yes, there is a difference, as Phil taught me."

Clint looked at Darcy as she said the last bit, noting the way her voice fluctuated a bit. "He was really important to you, wasn't he?"

"Well, duh," replied Darcy as she looked up at Clint. "The man adopted me. He actually _chose_ to be my father. It means a lot."

Nodding, Clint glanced at the others, debating if he should ask what he wanted to or not. Her words resounded heavily with him, and he suspected she'd revealed one more piece of the puzzle. At least, to him. What he wasn't sure about was how much she wanted to reveal to the others. Giving clues that someone who'd been through the same thing could pick up on was one thing, admitting it to other people was another.

He was still debating if he should ask or not when she spoke again. "Just ask, Clint." At his startled expression, she explained. "Dude, you think so loud the whole room can hear you."

"You sure you're not a mind reader?" teased Clint, a touch of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Positive," replied Darcy. "Now ask, before I kick your ass."

Clint really did smile at that. "You wish you could."

"I know I could," countered Darcy. "Phil taught me how to. Now, ask."

Sighing, Clint grabbed a cup as well, pouring the now-finished coffee into Darcy's cup. "Fine. Darce, were you, uh, abused?"

"Yeah," confirmed Darcy. Her voice was casual, but he could hear that it was forced. The rather loud gasps that came from Jane and Thor along with the sound of Pepper's water bottle hitting the ground didn't help any. "My birth parents were real bastards like that."

Clint felt the grip he had on the coffee carafe tighten. "Both of them?"

Darcy shrugged. "Mostly it was Andrew, but Meredith didn't exactly try to protect me, either."

"Oh Darcy..." whispered Jane, the astrophysicist hurrying to hug her former intern. "Darce, why didn't you say anything before?"

"Because it's in the past?" offered Darcy, squeaking slightly as Jane tightened her hold.

"Past or not, such offenses can not be left unpunished!" exclaimed Thor angrily, one arm shooting into the air with Mjolnir gripped tightly in his fist. "We shall seek out those who birthed you and teach them such actions will not go unpunished!"

"Um, they already learned that the hard way," informed Darcy quietly, pushing at Jane until the astrophysicist released her.

Natasha nodded, reaching out to lower Thor's arm. Or, well, try to. "She's right, Thor. Coulson isn't- wasn't- one to leave something like abuse unpunished."

Clint glanced at Darcy, noting the way she winced slightly. Without much though, he reached out and carefully lay a hand on her back. She jumped a little, but otherwise didn't move his hand from it's place. "'Tasha's right. If they aren't rotting in a S.H.I.E.L.D jail somewhere, they're probably in some shit-hole barely getting by."

"Actually, they're dead," informed Darcy. Her voice was solid, but he could feel her body shaking under his hand. "So, yeah. Non-issue."

Thor lowered Mjolnir slowly with Natasha still hanging slightly off his arm. "At least do met me the justice of knowing they suffered greatly then."

"You don't know the half of it," muttered Darcy. Her hands were visibly shaking a little at this point, making Clint worried she might spill her coffee.

"Darcy?" asked Jane gently, apparently having picked up on the way the brunette was shaking. "What happened?"

For a moment, Darcy fell silent. Her eyes dropped to the coffee cradled between her hands. Licking her lips, she began to explain in a very quiet voice. "I killed them one night. Someone- someone convinced me to do it and I did." Gulping slightly, she took a deep breath before continuing. "It wasn't exactly a hard thing to do, convince me I mean." Shaking her head, she took a moment to breath before continuing. "But, Phil helped me put it in the past. That's where I've kept it ever since."

Clint wrapped his arm tighter around Darcy, sensing she hadn't been 'convinced' so much as brain-washed into doing it. And he knew from experience that it wasn't hard to brain-wash a kid who was being abused. There wasn't much you could say to something like that either, another thing Clint knew from experience. So he didn't say anything, just tightened his arm a little more.

"You- you killed your parents?" whispered Jane, her eyes gazing at Darcy in shock.

"It sounds as if they deserved it," remarked Natasha. Pepper nodded in agreement. Steve looked like he wanted to object, but couldn't find something to object to. Tony's expression was unreadable, but Clint hadn't expected much more. The man had faced horror at the hands of terrorists; he could probably imagine what it was like to be abused as a child.

"It wasn't- it wasn't sexual right?" asked Jane, her voice still horrified. It was the type of horror related to knowing her friend had been tortured as a child and not for what Darcy had done in retaliation.

Darcy laughed, voice dry. "No, never. Andrew wouldn't touch me unless it was to hit me. It was the one saving grace."

"It doesn't matter what kind of abuse it was," cut in Clint quickly. He could feel the tension thrumming under Darcy's skin and he wasn't going to watch everyone else push her for answers when she wanted to clearly run. She was helping him, the least he could do is return the favor. "Abuse is abuse and it can't be soothed or justified."

"We weren't suggesting otherwise, Clint," soothed Natasha. He could see from her expression she knew he was connecting with Darcy's history on a personal level. "We're just curious, is all. No one is demanding answers."

Reaching out, Darcy carefully grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "It's alright, Clint. Like I said, I don't have secrets."

"But you are tensing up," murmured Clint gently. "This shit isn't easy to talk about."

"No," agreed Darcy. "It's not, and the horror never goes away. But it's also in the past for me. Pretty far in the past, for that matter. Really, I'm okay."

Steve's brow furrowed in concern. "Darcy, when did all of this happen?"

Darcy sighed, leaning her head carefully on Clint's shoulder. "I don't remember when the abuse started. It was definitely happening by the time I was eight though. I killed my parents when I was ten, which was the same time that Fury and Phil rescued me." She sniffed a little, taking a sip of her coffee. "I'm still surprised they didn't throw me in jail."

"You didn't deserve to be imprisoned," reasoned Tony mildly, leaning against the island counter. "No one would have convicted you."

"You didn't see what I did to them," whispered Darcy, a touch of horror leaking into her voice.

Clint shook his head, squeezing her shoulder. "Doesn't matter. No parent should ever hurt their kid. Whatever they got, they deserved it and probably more."

"It doesn't matter anyway," stated Darcy firmly, though her voice was a touch watery. "I swore I'd never do anything like that again."

Jane leaned heavily on the counter, one hand rising to her forehead. "I can't believe..."

"You were ten when this happened?" repeated Steve, horror clearly painted across his face. "That's..."

"Horrifying," offered Bruce. "Horrifying seems apt."

Darcy shrugged, curling in a little on herself. "It happened. Doesn't matter if it was horrifying or not."

"She's right," broke in Pepper. "What's in the past should remain there."

Thor nodded once, firmly. His silence through most of the discussion was unnerving, but Clint didn't imagine the alien god had much of a point of reference for dealing with these things. "Then let us go to the room of living to partake in activities to dispel such memories of terror."

"Sounds like a plan," agreed Tony, grabbing Bruce's arm and pulling him out of the room. "I think I've got something with explosions in it that might be worth playing."

"Tony," groaned Steve as he followed the mad genius out of the room. "We're trying _not_ to aggravate Dr. Banner..."

Pepper shook her head, heading for the door as well. "I'd better make sure Tony doesn't destroy the tower again."

"Come fair Jane, let us partake in the playing of war games on the screen you call a television!" exclaimed Thor as he practically swept a still-dazed Jane off the ground and carried her from the room.

Natasha chuckled faintly at the antics of the others before turning back to Darcy and Clint. "No one will be surprised if neither of you appear. In fact, it's expected." With that, she slipped out of the room to follow the others. Likely with the intention of collecting blackmail.

Clint listened to her walk away, arm still wrapped around Darcy. When Natasha's footsteps became over-whelmed by the sounds of shouting from the others, he turned his attention on Darcy. "So, want to collect on that rain check for a sparring match?"

"Gladly," replied Darcy, abandoning her coffee in favor of a bottle of water. "Meet you in the gym in ten."


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: Sorry guys, I know this chapter doesn't really deal any more with Clint's issues but please bear with me. There were a few more things I just wanted to get out there between Darcy and Clint, in part to give Clint some understanding of where Darcy was coming from and in part to give him more reason to trust her. And believe me, trust is a big part of working through these kinds of issues.**

**Please note, I'm writing this based on my own experience having conversations about abuse, so if the conversation doesn't seem right, I'm sorry. It'll seem like Darcy is sharing a lot in this, but in my experience once you start talking about it, it's easier to just keep going. And then you sleep and it becomes hard to talk about again. Again, this is all based on personal experience. Sorry if this seems off to anyone.**

Darcy was already in the gym when Clint arrived ten minutes later. Standing in the doorway, he took a moment to just watch her move as she stretched out her muscles. Even though he'd spent some time with her, he'd never paid much attention to what she looked like, including the other night in the gym. Their conversations always put him so far on edge, he never had the time. Which, in hind sight, was a shame because she really was pretty. Even with her hair tied up, clad in S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatpants that had seen better days and a tank in about the same condition, she was pretty.

"You ready to spar?" called Darcy from the mat, body relaxed. Her feet were bare, which wasn't a surprise to Clint. It was easier to move and you were less likely to do serious harm to your partner. That was only ideal in the field, when serious harm was required.

"You know it," confirmed Clint, removing his own shoes and moving easily onto the mat. He took a moment to stretch out as well, eyes still pinned on the woman in front of him. "What kind of martial arts do you use?"

Darcy shrugged. "I don't really know. Phil usually just called it 'hurting someone without killing them'. I've always assumed it was a mix meant to give the person attacked a chance to get away."

Clint nodded slowly, rolling his shoulders and neck. "I think I remember Phil using something like that. Not sure if it's S.H.I.E.L.D standard or not, but it's effective."

"Trust me, I know," assured Darcy as she moved to take a stance on the mat and started going through several warm-up exercises. "I've seen the video from the gas station, too."

"He was a pretty scary man," agreed Clint quietly. Finishing his stretches, he turned to Darcy. "Ready to start?"

Giving the air one last kick, she turned towards Clint and nodded. "Don't be too nice. I promise, I don't break easily."

"Never assumed you did," assured Clint, shrugging slightly. "I figure anyone who can tase a god can take care of themselves."

Darcy grinned. "That I can."

Smiling, Clint took up a stance across from Darcy. "Ready?"

"Let's do this," replied Darcy, dropping into her own stance.

For a minute, neither one of them moved. They just stood there, examining each other. Knowing her methods were defensive, Clint started it with a simple punch.

Even knowing Darcy could probably kick most people's ass, he was all too aware that he wasn't most people and hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do. He's surprised she was even willing to spar with him. Even Natasha exhibited caution when it came to that since the Loki incident. But here was Darcy, jumping right into a sparring match with him without any fear for her safety.

Darcy easily caught his punch, guiding it away from her body and throwing her own at him in retaliation. He ducked the strike, using his momentum to roll behind her. Which she countered by using her own momentum to spin so she was facing him again in a ready stance by the time he came up.

"Not bad," commented Clint, eying her stance. She'd fallen back into a perfectly balanced stance, meaning it was probably second nature. He'd guessed she'd been training for years when he was watching her in the gym the other night, but being able to beat up a punching dummy and being able to actually execute the moves in a fight were two very different things. "How long?"

"Several years," replied Darcy, suddenly executing a round-house kick aimed at his right knee.

He blocked the move effortlessly, catching her leg and attempting to pull her off-balance. She shifted her weight suddenly, dropping to the ground in a way that forced him to release her unless he wanted to get pulled down as well. Once on the ground, she rolled to the side and managed to kick the back of his knee. The move caused his knee to buckle and sent him to the ground with her.

"It shows," informed Clint, rolling away from her grasp.

She rolled easily to her feet, making sure he couldn't knock her off-balance in the process. "Phil always wanted to make sure I could defend myself if I needed to."

Clint nodded and threw another punch at her, which she dodged and returned. "Good move."

For several moments, they continued to trade blows and kicks. The only sounds in the gym were their grunts and breathing. Clint had to admit, she was good. Like, probationary agent good. He guessed she'd probably never used her skills in an actual fight, though he might be very wrong about that.

Their sparring ended rather suddenly when Darcy threw a punch which Clint caught and used to flip her onto the mats. Coughing slightly, she blinked up at him in surprise for a moment before offing him a smile. He smiled back, really smiled for what felt like the first time in ages, and held his hand out in offering. Her own grasped his, hoisting herself up.

"Nice move," commented Darcy, leaning forward a little to catch her breath.

Clint shrugged. "I should say the same to you. You're good."

"Like I said, Phil taught me well." Her words were a bit shaky, but Clint couldn't tell if that was from being winded or an emotional reaction to her own memories. Straightening, she stretched her back carefully. "Feel like talking a little?"

"What do you mean?" asked Clint wearily, smile falling. Of course, he knew what she meant; the only reason she'd ask is if she wanted to discuss what happened to him. Which was a surprise, given how much of her own history had been laid on the table maybe half an hour before. Then again, it could be a coping tactic too: focus on his problems so she wouldn't have to face her own at the moment.

The look she gave him clearly said that she knew he knew what she was talking about. He wasn't in the least bit surprised she didn't fall for the bullshit either. "Quid pour quo, remember? You've heard my quid, so I was wondering if you'd mind giving up some quo."

He shrugged slightly, stretching out his own muscles to keep them from cooling down. "I'm not gonna lie, after hearing your story earlier, mine feels a little...I don't know, a little petty I guess."

'Petty' wasn't the right word, and he knew it, but he couldn't think of a better word to explain it. She'd been abused for at least two years, probably longer based on his personal experience with the subject, then brain washed by some guy at the age of ten and was responsible for killing her own parents. Yeah, he'd done a lot of stuff he hadn't wanted to and killed a lot of people under Loki, but he was also a trained operative. Blood wasn't new to him. And he'd definitely never directly killed anyone like his own parents. The closest he'd come was 'Tasha and she'd managed to kick his ass, as always. What he'd been through sucked and he felt like he couldn't trust himself, but he wasn't a ten year old kid either. And he definitely hadn't been manipulated mentally by Loki like she would have been by her own captor. He'd seen the effects of that kind of brain washing on Natasha and he couldn't image having to untangle those knots at the age of ten.

"How do you mean?" asked Darcy, brow furrowing. "What happened to me isn't anywhere near as bad as what happened to you."

Clint sighed heavily, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "I guess...I guess after hearing what you said earlier, I realized what happened to me was less ambiguous than I thought. I mean, I know I did what I did because of Loki's phallic and over-compensating mind control stick. None of it was anything I wanted to do."

"That's good to hear," congratulated Darcy. "Now all you need to do is believe it. Because once you believe that, then you can start actually facing what happened."

"Huh?" asked Clint. Wasn't that what she was supposed to be doing? Helping him face everything he'd done? Hell, wasn't that what he'd been doing this whole time? "I don't understanding."

Sighing, Darcy retook her stance and motioned for him to do the same. "There's two parts to all of this: coming to terms with what happened and understanding where you stand with everything that happened. But you can't come to terms with anything until you stop blaming yourself."

Dropping into his own stance again, Clint groaned. "So basically, all I've done is said 'this isn't my fault'."

"Pretty much," confirmed Darcy. "Next step is actually believing it."

"I said it though, doesn't that kind of imply I believe it?" argued Clint as he began to slowly circle the mat.

Darcy matched his steps, breaking stance to shake one of her hands in a 'kind of' motion. "Just because you can admit something sometimes, doesn't mean you always believe it. You might say 'none of this was my fault', but the what-if's are still there. There's still part of your brain saying you should have fought harder or that you should have realized what was happening sooner. That's still blaming yourself for what happened."

Clint nodded slowly, carefully eying Darcy for some sign of her mood. "Did you go through that? The 'I should have's and 'what if's, I mean."

"Big time," admitted Darcy, throwing a kick aimed at his side rather suddenly. He blocked it easily with his left arm. "Don't compare our situations though, mine isn't as clear as yours was."

One of Clint's eyebrows rose as he threw a punch that she blocked. "What do you mean?"

Darcy blew a bit of loose hair out of her eyes and tried to kick him again. "I'm still not sure to this day if some of what I did was actually my idea or my controller's. At least you know that what you did under Loki wasn't of your own volition."

"I can't say that," argued Clint, blocking her kick and aiming a punch at her left shoulder. She knocked his hand aside before it could reach it's target, nearly sending him off balance. "Loki asked me questions; he gave me objectives. And I completed them without his guidance. Without his prompting. I came up with strategies for him just like I would have for S.H.I.E.L.D. And in my world, that's being cooperative."

"Yeah, but you didn't want to do that," pointed out Darcy, throwing her own punch towards his stomach. He caught her wrist and twisted her into an arm lock. "You never _wanted_ to kill innocent people or attack S.H.I.E.L.D. I wanted to kill my parents some days. Hell, most days if I'm being honest."

Twisting her arm suddenly, she managed to break the hold and bring a punch around in the tight space to connect with his side before moving away. Mild pain radiated from the point but nothing more, revealing that she was definitely pulling her punches. He'd suspected she would, especially given how much the training dummy had been shaking when she was using it a few nights before.

"No one can blame you for that though," objected Clint as he straightened up, rubbing his side a little. "You were being threatened, abused. That's not something someone goes though without wanting to see the person hurting them dead."

Darcy shook her head slowly, dropping her stance. "I talked to other kids like me, back when I was still trying to sort everything out. They-" she paused for a second, taking a shaky breath that was definitely rooted in emotion and not exercise this time. Gulping slightly, her eyes moved to the clock on the gym's back wall. "I couldn't figure out if it was my idea or his to kill my parents; couldn't even remember why I'd done it or what had happened. It was just a blank. And I thought: 'hey, why not talk to some other kids who've been through this and see what they were thinking; maybe I'll be able to figure things out then'. It didn't help though because, even after all that, I still didn't know who's idea it was. Didn't know if I was some kind of murderous psychopath or if it had been the guy controlling me all along."

Taking a deep breath, she returned her gaze to him. Her eyes were open and a touch scared. Haunted. It made him shiver a little. Her eyes reminded him a bit of Natasha's when she'd had a nightmare. The difference here was that Darcy was actually _talking_ about what was bothering her rather than emptying twenty clips of ammo into paper targets on the range.

"You know who you are, Clint," explained Darcy quietly. "You know where you stood in all of this. Nothing that you did was because you wanted to do it, and giving a guy who's using magic to control you strategies isn't willing participation. Hell, when the others wanted to go kick Loki's ass, you were one of the first people ready to board that shuttle. You knew what he'd done to you was wrong, that he'd forced you to do things you didn't want to, and you wanted to see him taken out for it. You wanted to kill him." Again she paused, biting her lip this time but not looking away. "I didn't want to see the man who'd been manipulating me die. After the fact, I was apathetic about the whole thing. Completely numb. Didn't know what to make of the situation I was in. I'd never fought my controller, never even seen what he was doing as manipulation. His own twisted form of abuse.

"But for you, Loki took control of your body and _forced_ you to use your mind for his purposes. You knew where his influence ended and you wanted to see him pay. I'd bet you fought him every step of the way and you need to remember that when your conscience tries to tell you otherwise; when the voices of doubt in the back of your mind try to eat away at your sanity." She paused again, taking a deep breath. "You didn't want any of those people dead and you know it. That's knowledge you need to hold on to and remind yourself of when your head tries to say otherwise. It'll help keep everything in perspective."

Clint nodded slowly, staring at the woman in front of him in awe. How she'd managed to cut through the bullshit and tease out the truth, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Hell, he hadn't been able to piece that much together and it was his head she was shrinking. "Is that how you made it through?"

"Something like that," confirmed Darcy, one hand reaching up to scratch at the back of her head roughly. It was a frustrated gesture Clint recognized as one of Phil's few twitches, one he'd never seen outside of the privacy of his deceased friend's office. "You need something, a grounding thought or notion of some kind, before you can really start to consider what happened to you. Once you start delving into events and memories, everything can become jumbled, including your understanding of what was happening at the time. So knowing where you stand now and understanding what was wrong with the situation before you start helps."

"So, you think there's some hope my head might be fixable?" asked Clint, trying to joke a little in an attempt to break the heavy feel of the room. It wasn't easy, given how little he'd joked with anyone since Natasha had literally knocked his head back in order on the Helicarrier.

A touch of a smirk pulled at the corner of Darcy's lips, showing he'd at least had a little success. "From what Loki did, sure. Everything else is permanent damage though, sorry."

"Damn," replied Clint, snapping his fingers. "And here I was hoping there was some chance 'Tasha would stop trying to commit me."

One of Darcy's eyebrows rose. "To a relationship?"

"Nope, mental asylum," corrected Clint. "Something about having no sense of self-preservation."

"Well, that's probably because you seem to think shooting nerf darts at her is a good idea," pointed out Darcy. "And yes, I've seen the security footage. Phil used to bring it home and we'd watch the ridiculousness that is you messing with other agents."

Both of Clint's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Yep," confirmed Darcy, her smile turning sad from the memories. "He kept them a lot for nights when I had bad nightmares because they always made me laugh."

"Sweet, I win!" exclaimed Clint suddenly, grin curling across his face.

Darcy blinked at him blankly. "You won what?"

"My bet with 'Tasha," explained Clint, still grinning. "She bet me once that no one enjoyed my pranks and I told her at least one other person had to. This proves it."

Groaning, Darcy shook her head. "God, you really are a dork!" Still, there was a genuine smile on her face and that stirred something inside Clint. Knowing that his antics had helped another person through their problems, or at least taken their mind off their issues, helped make the punishment he'd sustained due to his many, many pranks worth while. "So what was this bet for? Is there head-shaving involved?"

"No head-shaving," replied Clint. "'Tasha likes her hair too much for that. We were betting for bragging rights."

"Not even money? I'm disappointed," teased Darcy. "I would have at least expected something like you having to wear women's underwear for a week or something interesting."

Clint blanched a little. "No, I'm never doing that again."

"The Czech mission didn't look _that _bad," dismissed Darcy. At Clint's raised eyebrow, she elaborated. "It's one of those mission reports I mentioned Phil bringing home."

"And you remember that specific one because..." started Clint, looking at her expectantly.

Darcy smirked. "Because it involved you imitating a female prostitute. By the way, you make an ugly woman."

"Hey! I thought I looked pretty good in that dress!" exclaimed Clint, voice a touch offended. "Especially given it wasn't much better than a potato sack."

"Excuse me, that was _my_ dress," growled Darcy, eyes narrowing in a way that made Clint very nervous.

Gulping slightly, he backed up quickly. Darcy had already made it onto his 'don't mess with too badly' list. Offending her choice in clothing wasn't something he wanted to do, ever. "Er, what I meant to say is that on _me_ it looked like a potato sack. I'm sure on you it'd be perfectly fine. Um, at least I'd image?"

The hard look Darcy was giving him broke as a smile cut across her face along with a series of giggles. Clint relaxed at the sound, scowling slightly at her. "That wasn't actually your dress, was it?"

Darcy snorted a little, shaking her head. "No, it kind of was. Phil got it for me as a present for my birthday except he got the wrong size. And it wasn't particularly attractive in the first place. When I told him all this, he just held it up and shrugged saying 'I'll just save it for a mission then. I'm sure Barton will look fine it in'."

"Of course he would," groaned Clint. He could see his former boss saving a too-big and ugly dress originally intended for his daughter for the sole purpose of torturing others. "And he'd never make 'Tasha wear it because she'd refuse."

"That's because Agent Romanov is smart," pointed out Darcy with a smile. Stretching her arms above her head, she yawned slightly and looked at the clock. It's almost eleven."

"It's also a Friday night," reminded Clint, eyes going to the clock as well. "Bars are probably open, wanna grab a drink?"

For a moment, he thought she might say no. The way her lips pursed in consideration and her head tilted slightly seemed to imply she was thinking about just going to bed. Then she shrugged and offered him a smile. "Sure, why not? We've both had a rough night. Where were you thinking?"

"Ever been to the pub on 3rd between E. 93rd and E. 94th?" asked Clint as he began to stretch out his muscles to keep any stiffness from setting in.

"Kinsale Tavern? I think Phil took me there when I turned 21," admitted Darcy. "The bar tender was giving him dirty looks until I called him 'Dad'."

"Probably Old Murry," replied Clint. "He sees far too many dirty old men trying to pick up girls young enough to be their granddaughters and daughters."

Darcy nodded, moving through her own stretches carefully. "That makes sense. I remember Phil got up to use the bathroom and some old guy came over and started flirting with me. The glare Phil gave him when he returned could have crumbled stone."

"Hey, it's a father's job to be protective of his kid," pointed out Clint soothingly. "Even if the kid is only his by adoption, any good father will try their hardest to protect and love their child."

"Yeah, I figured that part out," stated Darcy with a sad smile and sniffle. Standing up straight again, she started towards the doors to the gym, hiding her face. Her voice was a little wobbly as she spoke, but Clint couldn't tell if she was crying or not. "Meet in the lobby in fifteen minutes?"

"Yep, sounds good," agreed Clint, watching her walk out the doors of the gym.

He'd never deny that he'd found Darcy curious before, but now he was just down right intrigued. And also feeling somewhat murderous towards the people who'd hurt her. Mentally, he made a note to sneak into the record's room the next chance he got and see what he could find on the man who'd brain washed her. Her parents were dead, but if the man who'd possibly convinced her to kill them was still alive, than maybe he'd have a chance to deal with one scum bag from her life. And he had to admit, punching someone who'd caused her so much pain was very, very appealing.

**End Note: No, I've never been to Kinsale Tavern. I just looked up pubs in New York on Google.**


	6. Chapter 6

Darcy was already in the lobby when Clint stepped off the elevator, her phone in hand and fingers moving quickly over the keys. A dark leather coat was wrapped around her upper body, hiding whatever shirt she was wearing from view. Her jeans were tight, highlighting her long legs which were only accented more by her boots. It almost made Clint forget to get off the elevator. He'd known she looked good, but seeing her in something other than sweats or worn jeans and a baggy sweater drove the knowledge home.

She glanced up at the sound of the doors closing, offering him a smile as she dropped her phone back into her pocket and tucking her hands into her coat. "Hey Clint, ready to go?"

"You know it," confirmed Clint, forcing his attention back onto his surroundings and walking towards her. Smiling, he pushed open the door and held it open for Darcy to step through first. She shot him a raised eyebrow but didn't fight it, passing him with a murmured 'thanks'. Cool air struck his face as he stepped out onto the pavement, helping to sooth the strain that he'd been feeling inside. "Subway or cab?"

"Subway works," replied Darcy, nodding down the street. "There's a station just down the block."

Clint shrugged. "Sounds good. There's a station less than a block from the bar."

Darcy nodded, starting down the block towards where she'd gestured. "Perfect."

They fell into silence after that, walking side by side with nearly a foot of space between them. The air outside had turned crisp with the impending fall, making the walk cool but pleasant with a light coat. Wind would pick up every once in a while to tease at Darcy's hair, sending the wild curls flying. It made Clint want to push the errant strands behind her ear.

"Clint?"

Darcy's voice drew him from his thoughts. He hid his surprise behind a smile. "Yeah?"

"You alright?" asked Darcy quietly. There's a touch of worry in her tone too, but it's not the over-whelming kind he'd gotten used to hearing. Not the type that came from people who thought he could break at any moment.

"Just thinking, that's all," dismissed Clint easily, trying not to think about how easily she's working with him. Talking with him. Like he never killed a bunch of people at the whim of a mad-man. "Nothing to worry about."

"Really?" countered Darcy with a raised eyebrow. "Because I'm pretty sure when you start thinking, the rest of us need to take cover." There's a touch of a smile in her tone, slightly forced. She's trying to tease him but there's too much going on in her own head to really put her heart into it. Well, that's something he's got to fix. She's helping him, he can do the same in return.

"Hey, I'm not that bad," objected Clint with a touch of a pout, forcing himself to relax a little. Darcy wasn't nervous around him; she never had been. But he knew how anxiety could rub off on others, and so he'd try to relax for her sake. _Act like you want others to act around you_; maybe it'll actually _work_ if he believes it enough.

Darcy smirked a little, starting down the stairs into the subway. "As long as your thoughts don't involve your trick arrows."

This time, Clint really did pout. "Hey, you've gotta respect the arrows! They've gotten me out of a lot or jams."

"I don't doubt it," agreed Darcy, her own teasing smile on her lips. The line of her shoulders is relaxing a little, much to Clint's relief. "But even you've got to admit they're a little silly sometimes. I mean, boomerangs?"

"I swear those are useful," argued Clint, falling into the conversation. It was nice to relax with someone again, just teasing each other and not really discussing anything serious. Hanging out with someone who wasn't afraid of him. It felt normal. "When you've got guys behind you but don't have time to turn and aim, they're useful."

Darcy shook her head, flashing her subway pass by the sensors and stepping through the turn-stye when it clicked. "And how do you actually expect to _hit _people who are _behind_ you?"

Clint shrugged, swiping his own pass in the process. "I'm just that good?"

"Sure you are," drawled Darcy with a roll of her eyes. The smirk was still there though, indicating that she was probably teasing him. Probably. Who knew what stories Phil had told her.

"You know it," assured Clint. They arrived at the platform just before their train. Wind whistled heavily through the space, making him wince slightly. She held out a pair of ear plugs to him, slipping a second pair into her own ears. He took the small cones gratefully, slipping them into his own ears. It dulled the high pitched sounds significantly, making it easier to hear everything else.

They stood in silence until the train rolled in, boarding as soon as the doors were open. The car was wasn't completely full but it wasn't empty either. Still, they were left with standing room only. Without any prompting, Darcy headed immediately for the back of the car and squeezed into the corner with her back pressed to plastic. It was surprising to Clint, who preferred to have his back to a wall than exposed in places like this. He didn't argue though, just leaned against the wall next to her.

She popped out her ear plugs as soon as the door shut, rubbing the skin covering her ear canals. "I can't decide if the ear plugs or the sound of wind moving through the tunnels is worse."

"I'd side with sound," remarked Clint, removing his own ear plugs. "Always makes my ears ring."

"Mine too," agreed Darcy. "The plugs just feel weird."

"Why do you carry ear plugs with you anyway?" asked Clint, offering the pair he was carrying back to her.

She just waved them away. "Keep them, I'm just going to toss them anyway. And the noise in the subway always bothers me. It's just easier to carry a set of ear plugs and not need them than to suffer needlessly."

"Doesn't it make you nervous not being able to hear everything though?" asked Clint curiously. He'd already established something about Darcy was off. He wasn't doubting that. What he wondered was what made her different. Well, besides her screwed up early life.

"Not really," replied Darcy with a shrug. "I know what's going on around me and that's all that matters."

"You can't say that when you've got ear plugs in though," argued Clint. "It takes away from your ability to monitor your environment."

"I don't worry about it," admitted Darcy, eyes glancing around the car. "There's other ways to monitor your environment."

"Like?" pressed Clint curiously, one eyebrow rising.

Darcy just shrugged, offering him a mysterious smile. "Sorry, a girl has to keep some secrets."

"And I've learned a bit too much about you already tonight," reasoned Clint, smiling back a little.

For a moment, he just looked at Darcy as she stared around the car, eyes darting between passengers constantly. In just this one night, he'd learned a lot about her; more than he'd probably ever known about anyone save Natasha. But everything he'd learned was bad, consisting of memories and feelings he knew the woman in front of him didn't want to recall. It was time to learn something good. Turn both their thoughts to something a little better, even if it was just for a while. Then again, he seemed to suck at that so maybe this whole thing would blow up in his face. Only one way to know for sure. "So, why did you take the internship with Jane if you're a political science major?"

"Science credits," replied Darcy simply. "Also, her research was interesting. Or, at least I thought it would be. Plus, it was better than taking a basic physic's class. I've never been good with theory if I can't see it in practice."

Clint nodded slowly. "Gotcha. Was it as interesting as you thought it would be? Well, until Thor showed up that is."

"More or less," agreed Darcy. "Jane's physics jargon went over my head more than once, but I feel like I've actually learned something."

"Always good," muttered Clint. He paused again, waiting to see if she said more. When she offered no more details, he switched topics. Kind of. "So, Pepper says you're interning over at Stark Industries."

"Yeah," confirmed Darcy. "She wants me to work in the PR department."

"Sounds like a good job," stated Clint. "Are you going to take it?"

She shrugged slightly. "I haven't decided yet."

Well, that wasn't expected. "Most people would jump at a chance to work with Stark Industries, especially in PR. They get paid the most to fix Tony's social faux pas'."

"Yeah," agreed Darcy quietly, "but I've got another offer on the table to consider too."

Both of Clint's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Okay, when he thought about it, it wasn't so surprising. Pepper was going to be seriously peeved if her intern got poached, though. "Another offer?"

She nodded slightly, eyes making one more pass around the car before she refocused her gaze on Clint. "Mhm. It's not as good as Pepper's, but..."

"It's more worth-while?" guessed Clint. "Or you'd be helping someone you care about out if you took the second offer?"

"A little of both," admitted Darcy. "It's not that I don't enjoy working for Pepper, but I still want to get involved with international law and the other job...it's still not in-line with my goals but it's closer and I'd be helping out someone who's helped me before."

Clint shrugged a little, reaching out to brace himself on the bar over their heads as the train turned. Darcy just pressed herself harder into the corner of the train car, leaning away as the force made him lean closer to her. She tried to be subtle about it, but he noticed. It was his job to notice things like that. "You don't like to touch people, do you?"

Her eyes fell away from him, focusing out the window over his shoulders. He could tell from the angle of her pupils. "You've been through the same thing, I'd think it would be the same for you."

"I went through it a long time ago," reasoned Clint. "And yeah, for a while I didn't like to be touched, but I got over it once I realized that everyone who moved to touch me wasn't going to hurt me."

"I've never enjoyed being touched by anyone." Her body tightened, muscles tensing sharply. Suddenly. Okay, apparently that was the wrong thing to say. "It's just who I am."

Clint nodded, backing off immediately. Making her defensive was the last thing he was trying to do. They both needed to relax tonight. "Sorry, it was an observation, not an attack."

Her eyes met his again, an apology written across her face. "No, I should apologize. Normally I'm not that defensive, it's just been a long day."

"Understandable," assured Clint.

For a moment, they stood in silence as the doors opened to allow passengers to get on or off. Clint wracked his brain for anything they could talk about that was considered 'normal' conversation. Being isolated on a military base then kidnapped _then_ running into battle with a bunch of superheros to save the world didn't exactly leave a lot of time for socializing. Well, not with anyone _normal_ anyway. Tasha was pretty morbid most of the time, which didn't surprise him at all given the life she'd had prior to S.H.I.E.L.D., and he couldn't say anyone else really trusted him enough to have a normal conversation.

"So, Phil told me you came out of the circus," started Darcy, startling Clint. He'd assumed any further conversation would have to be started by him. "That must have been different."

"Different is one way of putting it," sighed Clint, rubbing the back of his head. "It was hard work, but better than the alternatives."

Darcy nodded, eyes shifting back out to stare at the tunnel walls. "Foster care isn't really anyone's ideal alternative. Some kids are fine in it, but..."

"People like us usually aren't," finished Clint. "You were lucky Phil adopted you."

She shrugged a little. "I'm lucky they didn't throw me in prison."

Clint's eyes began scanning the train car, identifying the new passengers and categorizing them as 'threatening' or 'probably harmless'. "You were a kid and brain washed. I'm not sure anyone would cite what you did as wrong or criminal by your own choosing."

"Probably not," agreed Darcy quietly. "Doesn't mean there wasn't a good chance that I would have still been blamed though." Clearing her throat a little, Clint watched her refocus her gaze on him. "Where was this circus anyway?"

"Iowa," replied Clint, trying to force himself to relax again. It was normal to discuss where you were from with people you didn't know well. At least, he recalled someone telling him that once. Well, he hoped he recalled it and the conversation wasn't all a hallucination. "How about you? Where did you come from?"

"Just outside Omaha," replied Darcy. "Place called Bellevue."

Both of Clint's eyebrows rose. "Nebraska?"

"Yeah, know it?" asked Darcy curiously.

"We passed through the area a few times," explained Clint. "We stopped in some of the surrounding cities."

Darcy nodded slowly, apparently trying to think back. "Most of my memory from back then is pretty blurry, but I remember one night Andrew was in a really bad mood. Really bad. Throwing chairs bad. I snuck out of the house because I knew sticking around would be too dangerous and started to wonder the streets. There was all this noise from the river earlier that day, so I started in that direction and ended up at the edge of this clearing where all these people were working. I don't know if it was a carnival or a circus or what, but there were just people and animals everywhere. I'd never seen anything like it. I thought about going closer, but couldn't bring myself to. Too many people I didn't know, too much risk. I couldn't risk the cops taking me home until Andrew'd passed out, so I just sat there watching these people set up their traveling attraction. Spent hours up there, watching everything."

"Did you see any kids running around?" asked Clint curiously. He knew there were kids in some circus', obviously. If it wasn't because their parents were in an act, it was because they'd escaped something bad like he and Barney had.

"Several," confirmed Darcy quietly. "Most of them were older though, so I didn't want to risk getting close. Older kids, especially boys, weren't always nice to me."

"I remember that," admitted Clint. "I had to pull more than a few kids off each other."

Darcy nodded quietly, eyes a bit distant. "I saw the name of the circus, but I can't remember it now. There were two older boys though, I remember seeing them at the edge of the group. One of them was setting up several bails of hay and pinning a target to it, an improvised shooting range."

"Did he have a bow?" asked Clint. There had been several circus' with archery acts; if she could describe the boy or the bow, he might be able to tell her which circus it was.

"He had a case like the one you carry," replied Darcy. "And there was a bow, but I was too far away to make out any details. My night vision was good, but I was too far away to see much of anything. I just remember it was curved funny, not straight, and it looked like their might have been a design to the whole thing. It caught my eye because the few bows I'd seen didn't look like that; they were all either fiberglass compact bows or the cheap wooden reproductions. This one looked nice."

Clint smiled a little, shaking his head. "There were several bows like that in a few different circus'. Who knows, maybe it was me you saw."

A touch of a smile pulled at Darcy's lips. "That's a nice thought, actually. The closest I came to sneaking down there was when he put the bow down to go help another boy a little older than him with something. I wanted to see the bow, because it looked so pretty."

Nodding, Clint wondered if it hadn't been him she'd seen. There weren't _that _many circus' in the area. Especially ones that had archery acts. It would definitely be some strange twist of fate if that were the case. And maybe just a touch creepy. "Did anyone ever teach you how to shoot?"

One of Darcy's eyebrows rose in surprise. "A gun?"

"A bow," replied Clint with a shrug. "I'm assuming Phil taught you to use a gun."

"Not long after I moved in with him," confirmed Darcy. "Er, he taught me to use a gun, I mean. No one's ever taught me to use a bow."

Clint nodded slowly, an idea forming in his mind. "Want me to teach you? Sounds like you were pretty interested in bows, at least back then."

"Just that one," corrected Darcy, a smile tugging at her lips. "And sure, that could be fun. At least, it looked fun."

"Did you go to the circus once it was open?" asked Clint.

"No," replied Darcy with a sigh. "My parents never would have gone with me and I didn't think they'd let me in alone. Besides, the police were pretty big on making sure kids didn't run around by themselves in some effort to reduce child kidnappings or something like that. It meant I had to hide in unpopulated places when I couldn't go home."

"I doubt they would have gotten upset about a kid at the circus alone," objected Clint. "It's a place for people to play. Well, if you aren't staff."

"The police came to our school and told us we couldn't go to the circus alone," explained Darcy. "I think I was eight, maybe nine. They didn't even like us wondering around town alone unless we were going to and from school. Even then, I almost got picked up more than once and had to come up with an excuse. The one time the police brought me home because they caught me walking alone from school, things were really bad once they'd left."

Clint winced, nodding. He remembered his own father getting mad whenever anyone came by the house that wasn't family. Especially if it was because either he or Barney had screwed up. "I remember my dad was like that too." Running a hand through his hair, he offered Darcy a smile. "I know it doesn't change anything, but if it was my circus and you had come by, I would have made sure to get you out."

A smile tugged at the corner of Darcy's lips again, faint but there. "It doesn't change anything, but it's nice to hear anyway."

Silence descended between them as the train made another stop, a large group of people getting on. It looked like a party crowd likely heading downtown. Everyone in the group was dressed to hit a party of some kind. Several of the girls gave him an appraising look as they passed, a few of the guys shooting interested looks at Darcy as well. She just cocked an eyebrow at them though, sending the guys scattering. He ignored the girls. They were all too young for him.

As the train began to move again, Clint picked up the conversation once more. "What's college like?"

"College?" repeated Darcy, raising an eyebrow at him. "It's school, just with more freedom. You get to actually study what you _want_ rather than just what you have to. Why? Thinking about going back?"

"Nah," dismissed Clint. "Wouldn't do me much good. I have a good job, a specialized skill set, and a purpose. I don't need to go back. I just never went and wondered what it was like."

Darcy shrugged a little. "It's school. You sign up for classes, teachers give you homework, projects, etc. It's a more diverse community, which is nice, and you get some practical experience in your field, but otherwise...it's school." She paused for a moment, considering something. "What was it like being in the circus?"

"Hard," admitted Clint. "It could be fun too, though. Just depended on the day. There were times we would be setting up in winter that were brutal and times in summer that were hard but fun. At night everyone would gather around the central fire and talk. Chatter. It was like having a very large and strange family."

"It sounds kind of nice," stated Darcy with a soft smile. "Having all those people around to help watch your back."

Clint shrugged again. "I can't say everyone was that friendly, but some of us were close." He paused then, wanting so badly to ask the one question he'd been dying to know the answer to since he'd met Darcy.

"Just ask, Clint," spoke up Darcy suddenly, startling him. Looking at her eyes, he could see the mild exasperation she was apparently feeling towards him. "I have no secrets, remember? Also, you think very loud for what you do."

"Do not," muttered Clint. "'Tasha swears I never think."

"Then Natasha doesn't spend much time with you," countered Darcy. "Now ask. If I don't want to answer, I won't answer."

"Fine," sighed Clint. "What was living with Phil like?"

A sad smile tugged at Darcy's lips, belaying the mix of emotions that came with the question. "Interesting, honestly. He was very protective of me, which meant I didn't do things like go to work with him. Honestly, I should have probably had a babysitter but, after everything, I was used to taking care of myself. He didn't worry too much when he left me home alone, especially given we were living in a S.H.I.E.L.D. sanctioned apartment until I turned fifteen. At that point, he opted to move us off base, probably at least in part for his sanity. Having a 15-year-old daughter around a bunch of military men didn't seem like a good idea to him."

"I can't imagine why," muttered Clint. "I would have moved, too."

"Regardless, living with Phil was nice," admitted Darcy. "He was always there when I needed him. If I woke up in the middle of the night, he'd throw on a movie and watch it with me. On days when I was tense, he would meditate with me or divert the energy into martial arts. He helped me with my homework, came to any and all parent-teacher conferences, showed up for open house and back to school night. Everything. It didn't matter how menial it was, if I was involved than so was Phil. Well, except for dating. He pretended I wasn't even interested in dating until I was seventeen and my prom date picked me up."

Clint grinned, trying to image how his former boss would have reacted to finding a pimply-faced kid on his doorstep, ready to take his adoptive daughter to a dance. "Were there guns involved in that last exchange?"

"Probably," laughed Darcy. "Guns or knives. Or just his 'I can kill you ten different ways with a paper-clip' look. Any of the above and possibly a mix of all three were likely involved. My date did look pretty pale when I came down."

"Sounds like he was a pretty awesome dad," commented Clint, offering her his arm as the train pulled up to their stop.

"He was," confirmed Darcy sadly, tucking her hands back into her pockets. "No matter what I wanted to do, he supported me. He taught me about loyalty and showed me what parents should actually be. It wasn't like anyone ever guessed I was adopted anyway. I even looked like him."

"A little," agreed Clint, dropping his arm back to his side. Apparently, despite their sparring match, she still wasn't comfortable with touching him. Or maybe it was just the sheer number of people around them. That could be it too, what with the threat of physical contact and all. "Actually, more than I thought when I look at you. Wasn't he from the same town as you, too?"

"Yeah," murmured Darcy, heading for the open train doors. Clint followed quickly behind. Almost no one got off at the stop except them. The few other passengers who did exit, Clint watched carefully. He didn't think anyone on the train had been a threat to them, but one never knew for sure.

Still scanning the platform, he followed Darcy as she headed for the stairs up. "So, I mean, I'm sure you looked into this, but couldn't you be related to him?"

Darcy paused mid-way up the stairs, eyes wide like the thought never occurred to her. Which, hell, maybe it hadn't. "I don't think so...I'm sure Fury and Phil tested my DNA against his or something when they brought me in and they would have said something if I was related to Phil." Shaking her head, she started moving quickly again. "Besides, I don't see Phil sleeping with Meredith. My mom wasn't exactly his type, if the women he dated while I was living with him were any indication."

"They might not have, too," pointed out Clint, holding up one hand to Darcy in a gesture for silence. For a moment all he did was focus on the noise from above, listening carefully for any suspicious sounds. When he confirmed that all he could hear was street noise, he relaxed a little more again and continued with his previous train of thought. "How were you adopted?"

One of Darcy's eyebrows rose in confusion. "I don't really know, honestly. Phil just came to me one day and asked if I would be willing to stay with him or if I wanted to live with a different family. I didn't want to leave, so he said I didn't have to. It never came up again." Shrugging, she added: "Ask Fury if you want to know more."

"Is that permission?" asked Clint half-seriously. He really was curious about this one- even with her parents dead, she should have gone to another family member before a stranger.

"Knock yourself out," dismissed Darcy with another shrug. "He'll tell you if it's not classified. I'm not really sure how they managed to make me disappear."

Clint nodded as the pub came into view, lightly resting his hand on Darcy's shoulder. She didn't flinch this time; if anything the presence helped her to relax. "Here's the pub."

Darcy nodded, pulling open the heavy wooden door on the front of the establishment. The sounds of loud talking and plastic connecting with wood echoed out of the space in front of them. Several TV's were mounted on the walls around the room, displaying different international soccer games with subtitles and muted sounds. Groups of people hovered in different places inside, talking and laughing. The whole place had a very warm feel to it, almost homey. But even with all of that, it was quiet enough that people could still talk at a reasonable decibel level.

"So what do you want to drink?" asked Darcy, walking inside and tugging off her coat.

Clint wanted to answer, he really did, but he was having some trouble getting his jaw to work. Or his brain for that matter. The shirt she was in wasn't indecent per say, it was actually kind of funny and explained why she'd been wearing her jacket inside the lobby of the building. What was making it hard for him to speak was a combination of the design on the shirt and the, well, tightness of the fit.

He was guessing it was pilfered from Phil, probably years and years ago if he had to take a guess. Captain America's shield was proudly displayed in the middle of the tee-shirt, stretched nearly indecently across Darcy's well-sized chest. The fabric rode up some around her stomach, giving him a view of the skin between the top of her tight jeans and her shirt.

_Stop being a pervert, Barton! The girl is standing there in what's got to be one of her _**father's**_ old shirts. One of your former _**friends**_ shirts. Get over it._

Shaking his head, he managed to grab the door before it closed and step in after her with _some_ dignity. "Um, Guinness. Dark Guinness." Pausing, he considered his choice. "Actually, scratch that. Whiskey neat."

"So, two whiskey's. Got it," confirmed Darcy as she sauntered towards the bar.

Clint pulled his own jacket off, glaring at a few guys near the door who were checking Darcy out. A few of them tried to glare back, but most of them quickly returned to their drinks and conversation like smart people. There were no free tables, so he headed for the bar and quickly dropped his jacket on a stool beside where Darcy was standing. "No tables."

"Not a surprise," remarked Darcy with a shrug. "At least the place isn't packed to the brim."

"At least," agreed Clint, nodding to Old Murry where he stood behind the bar.

The bar keeper was, as his name implied, relatively old looking but easily one of the best bar tenders in New York. He could pour a perfect pint of Guinness every time with his eyes closed and knew his liquor well enough to stock the place with only good labels- and that didn't necessarily mean expensive.

Murry's gray-bearded face appeared in front of Clint a moment later, looking between the archer and Darcy wearily. "Bloody hell Barton, though you had more sense than ta date a girl nearly half yer age."

"Hey!" objected Clint, grinning. "She's only ten years younger than me."

"Aye, and she's wearin' another man's shirt too," growled Murry. "Please tell me she's yer boss' kid and not his gal. 'Cause I will not put up with you stealin' another fella's gal. Not in my bar."

"Relax Murry," assured Clint. "I'm not trying to steal her from anyone. Though," he paused and pretended to give Darcy an assessing look. She returned it with her own smirk. "Okay, maybe I would. But I swear, I don't have to sleep with _every_ girl I meet."

"Jus' most of 'em," scolded Murry. "I've heard of yer tendencies, Barton. Tha' Russian gal o' yers has stories."

"That's because 'Tasha practically stalks me when she's bored," growled Clint.

Murry chuckled, shaking his head. "Cannot say I'm surprised by that. She's a scary woman, yer partner."

"You're telling me," muttered Clint. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice back to a proper speaking level and looked at Darcy. "So, Darce, this is Old Murry."

Darcy smiled and nodded at Murry, carefully keeping her hands tucked away. "Yeah, I remember him from the time Phil brought me here. He pretty much threw this creepy guy who'd been staring at me all night out of the bar."

"Aye, I recall you," stated Murry, rubbing his gray whiskers. "You were th' young lass tha' came in with Coulson."

"He's my dad," confirmed Darcy. "Er, was. He was my dad."

"So I heard," sighed Murry. "My condolences to you, Miss Darcy."

"Thanks," thanked Darcy, forcing a smile. "And it's nice to meet you."

"As 'tis to meet you," agreed Murry. "So what can Old Murry get fer you?"

"Two whiskeys, neat," ordered Clint with a grin. "Thank's Murry."

"'s what I'm here ta do," reminded Murry with a shake of his head. He turned back to Darcy and offered her a smile. "Keep lookin', Lass. This one's taken a few too many hits ta the head."

Clint actually felt a touch insulted. Well, not really, but it was fun to play it that way. "Hey, I resemble that comment! I mean resent. Resent! And the number of times I've hit my head is still only in the double digits!"

"Yeah, the high double digits," countered Darcy, grin curling across her lips. "Once you've hit the 90's, you might as well give up hope of dodging the triple digits."

"But I get a cake when I hit 100," argued Clint. "Who doesn't like cake?"

Darcy blinked at him, almost looking worried. "Dude, if all you want is a cake, I'll make you one."

"Nah, I'd rather earn it," insisted Clint, his own grin settling in. "Tastes better."

"Yeah, because you've damaged your brain so many times it can't process taste anymore," countered Darcy. "Dirt would probably taste good."

Murry laughed, catching Clint's attention again. Glancing at the bar keeper, he can see the way the older man is eying them with a smile. "Perhaps I spoke too soon. You might be able ta actually keep this oaf in line. Jus' make sure he doesn't cause you grief."

"Don't worry, I have a taser and I'm not afraid to use it," assured Darcy with a grin.

Murry laughed again, setting their drinks in front of them. "Well, enjoy yer drinks an' let me know if you need anythin'." Turning to Clint, he added: "Keep an eye on the Lass. There's plenty o' men in this bar tha' would love a chance at 'er."

"You got it, Murry," assured Clint with a grin. "I'm not letting anything happen to her."

Darcy snorted slightly as Murry walked away, offering Clint a smirk. "I'm pretty sure it'll be me keeping you out of trouble."

"That's usually what 'Tasha has to do," admitted Clint, taking a sip of his whiskey. "She's pulled me out of more than one fight."

"Never mind then," muttered Darcy. "We might be in trouble. Do you have someone to call if we get arrested?"

Clint shrugged, offering her a smirk and raising his whiskey glass. "I figure Tony's good for bail money."

"Sweet," replied Darcy, clicking her own glass against his. "So it's agreed: if we get arrested, we call Tony."

Sipping his whiskey, Clint carefully set the glass down. "What do you think we'd be most likely to get arrested for?"

"Drunken brawling," answered Darcy instantly. "Though I've got to say, you seem more like an 'indecent exposure' kind of guy."

"Eh, that's only a small percentage of my arrest record," dismissed Clint. "Twenty percent, tops."

Darcy snorted slightly, choking a bit on her whiskey. "So what's the other eighty percent?"

"A combination of assault, drunken disorderly, minor violations for possession, and one for having a deadly weapon in public," recounted Clint with a shrug. "All charges related to the last two were dismissed though."

One of Darcy's eyebrows rose. "I'm a little afraid to ask, but possession of what?"

"Explosives," replied Clint. "Apparently, I failed to apply for the proper permits to own and carry low-grade military explosives."

"For your arrows, right?" asked Darcy, taking another sip of her drink.

Clint nodded, doing the same. "Yep. I make the tips myself, so I need the raw explosives and it's usually easier to do that at home in my down time."

Darcy chuckled a little, shaking her head. "So let me get this straight: you spend your down time building explosive arrow tips? You know that makes you sound like some kind of mad bomber, right?"

"Hey, I don't _just_ build exploding ones," objected Clint. "There's other ones too. Like my boomerang arrows!"

"I still can't believe those work," muttered Darcy with a shake of her head. "You're insane, you know that right?"

"'Tasha blames head trauma," replied Clint with a shrug. "I personally don't think there's anything wrong with me."

"Right," stated Darcy with a shake of her head. "Keep telling yourself that, Clint."

"Gladly," stated Clint with a smirk. "So what about you? What do you do in your down time?"

Darcy shrugged a little. "Depends on when the downtime is. If we're talking nights I can't sleep, the gym and video games. Also, the internet. Cat memes make everything better."

"I'll take your word for that," muttered Clint.

"Seriously, try it next time you have a mission go sour," insisted Darcy. "It's great. Something about cats doing weird things is just fun."

Clint smirked a little, downing the rest of his whiskey. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a crazy cat lady."

"Dude, I don't want to _own_ a cat," objected Darcy immediately. "Not unless I could have my friend's cat, Bruce. He's a little shit, but he's a friendly little shit." Following his lead, she downed the rest of her whiskey as well. "The last thing I need is a feline ninja trying to kill me every time I come home."

"You find them entertaining," pointed out Clint. "So why not?"

"I repeat: little feline ninja trying to kill me every time I come home." Darcy just shook her head. "No thank you. Besides, I also find Tony entertaining and yet I have no interest in bringing him home."

"That's probably just safer for everyone though," insisted Clint. "I'm pretty sure Tony shouldn't be allowed to mix with the general population. It might lead to death."

One of Darcy's eyebrows rose in a way that reminded Clint of Phil. Especially in the way she managed to convey exactly what she was saying in that one motion. "Might?"

"Might," confirmed Clint. "It would definitely lead to explosions and a possible loss of sanity for anyone who came into contact with him. There only might be death involved in that."

"I can accept those parameters," agreed Darcy after a moment. "You know, if he weren't considered such a genius, Tony would probably be on medication at minimum."

"Or have ended up locked in a sanitarium," added Clint. "I could see a sanitarium. By the way, you've been hanging with the scientists too much; you just used the word 'parameters' in a sentence."

"It's a multipoint word. And Tony in a nut-house is a funny image," snorted Darcy slightly. "I could just see him having a quantum physics debate with some guy who's so drugged up all he can do is drool."

"He would too," agreed Clint. "He'd just have the conversation with himself, pretty much like he does now. Want another whiskey?"

"Sure," stated Darcy with a shrug. "Sounds like fun."

Clint motioned for Old Murry to bring two more whiskeys, then turned back to Darcy. "So, what kind of music do you like?"


	7. Chapter 7

Clint sighed and rolled his shoulder as he opened the door to the roof. An ice chest filled with beer was gripped in one hand and a blanket was tucked under his arm, the one he _hadn't_ landed on falling off a building. Thankfully, it hadn't been high enough to break his arm.

He'd gotten a call at nearly 4 am informing him the Avengers were being deployed to deal with some two-bit villain who'd managed to build a giant robot which was destroying Miami. What no one had mentioned was that there was more than one robot. A fact that was apparently missed in the initial assessment. So they'd spent most of the day fighting giant robots, then in debrief. Now, Clint just wanted to curl up on the roof with beer and an ice pack.

Letting the door shut behind him, Clint started towards the corner of the roof that he'd claimed as his own only to stop dead at the sight in front of him. Darcy was lying in a pile of blankets in his normal spot. There was an old radio next to her broadcasting what sounded like a World-War two era broadcast. The blanket was covered in little Captain America shields and Darcy was curled up in an old S.H.I.E.L.D sweatshirt and sweatpants bearing the same logo.

"How was the mission?"

Darcy's words startled him back to reality. She was still laying on the blanket looking away from him, but somehow she'd known he was there. Just like Coulson had been able to. _Creepy._

Moving to the edge of the roof beside where Darcy lay sprawled out, Clint set the ice chest filled with beer beside her. "It was fine. Why are you on the roof?"

"Flashbacks," replied Darcy. "I have them on occasion. Isolation and fresh air are the best cures. Hence, the roof. Plus, no one looks for me up here. They consider it your spot."

Now that he was next to her, Clint could hear the radio was replaying the old Captain America war stories which were used as propaganda. Seemed like a strange choice for easy listening, especially when flashbacks most likely due to violence were the reason she was hiding. "War stories aren't exactly easy listening."

Shrugging, she paused the tape she was listening to and finally looked up at him. "Phil used to put them on when I had a bad day. It helped me focus, put everything into perspective." Sitting all the way up, she pats a spot next to her on the blanket. "I really hope there's beer in that ice chest."

Flipping up the lid, he tosses her one of the beers and pops his own open. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No," stated Darcy. "Nothing to talk about." Sipping her beer, she sets the bottle aside as Clint drops next to her on the blanket. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," replied Clint, sipping his beer to cover a slight wince. "Everything's fine."

"Liar." Her single word statement makes him visibly flinch. The look in her eyes conveys the same disbelief. "What happened."

Sighing, Clint flops backwards on the blanket so he can stare up at the stars. It's a weaker position than he'd normally ever put himself in, but he's starting to feel safer being around Darcy. _She won't judge you, Clint. She's said as much. Just tell her what happened. Maybe she'll know what to do._ It was strange to think that someone else might be able to help him with his problems; even 'Tasha couldn't do that. Then again, his partner had her own problems.

For several minutes they sat in silence as he tried to corral his thoughts into a cohesive line he could verbally express. It wasn't easy. "I froze today, on a shot." That was the hardest part to get out. He prided himself on his quick reflexes and unflinching accuracy. But today, he'd flinched. Not long enough for anyone to notice, not long enough for anyone to question if he should be in the field or not, but long enough for him to notice.

Darcy nodded slowly, sipping at her beer. "Why'd you freeze?" Her voice was so calm, so casual, they could have been talking about the weather.

It made everything just come tumbling out. "There was an agent on the ground, near where I was taking the shot. I scanned the area, looking for my target and when I passed over him it just...hit me. The memory. Germany. The art museum. Security guards in my cross-hairs. Then that eye... and I thought: 'If I let it go now, he'd be dead'. I caught myself calculating the distance, the amount of force, saw what would have happened, all of it went through my head before I could spin away. Before I could move my cross-hairs away. And I just, I was there all over again."

The brush of fingertips over the back of Clint's hand surprised him. Dropping his eyes to the blanket, he realized Darcy's fingers were resting over his own. It wasn't much contact, but he suspected it was a sacrifice to do even that. Turning his hand over, he tried to lightly squeeze her fingers in response. She ended up shifting her hand so their fingers intertwined.

"It'll happen," she admitted. "The flashbacks, the feeling that you're back in that same situation all over again." Rising her eyes to meet his, she firmly held his gaze. Her blue orbs showed nothing but understanding. A reflection of his own pain in her eyes. "The best way to deal with it is expect it to happen. If you know it can happen, even just a chance of it, you'll be watching for it. So when you do flash back, it won't blind-side you like that again." Sighing, she shifted to completely face him. "Did you want to shoot him, Clint?"

He didn't even pause before answering. "No."

"Did you get the urge to shoot him?" continued Darcy gently.

Again, no hesitation. "No."

Smiling softly at him, she ran her thumb over the back of his hand. "Then you're fine. The flashbacks will be triggered by similar situations or minor stimuli you might not even realize are connected. Sometimes it's a word or phrase, sometimes it'll be a shadow across your vision. Then, there will days like today, when you're in the same position you were in back then and your mind draws a parallel." Her fingers squeezed his softly. "It'll keep happening for a long time, possibly for the rest of your life, but it gets easier. The more time that passes, the fewer flashbacks you'll have."

"But they won't go away," stated Clint, sliding his free hand through his hair in frustration. "I- I'm not sure I can work like that."

"You can," assured Darcy firmly. "It's an adjustment, but it'll be alright." Squeezing his fingers a little, she added: "If you're worried, you could tell the others."

"No." He wasn't going there. "The last thing I need is to give them more reason to doubt my ability to handle this."

Dropping her eyes to their hands, she kept her voice soft and even. "No one is doubting your abilities and no one is going to argue your skills. If you want to keep this quiet, you can. It's your choice. But it might be safer for the others to know about the flashbacks. Just saying."

"Did you ever tell anyone about yours?" asked Clint. Above them, more stars were starting to flicker into view.

"One person," admitted Darcy. "Phil home-schooled me for a year before I was enrolled in public school. He did it to keep me in a controlled environment until he knew for sure I'd be alright. But the first year I was in school, one of the other students just moved wrong. I freaked out and ran out of the room. After that, Phil had to explain that I'd been abused to the teacher. She didn't tell anyone else, just made sure I knew she was available to talk if I needed to. I'm still in contact with her."

Clint nodded slowly, refocusing on Darcy. "Did she treat you any differently?"

"Not once," replied Darcy. "She just worked to make sure I felt safe."

They fell silent again, Darcy returning to her beer and Clint just taking solace in the stars above. He never let go of her hand though, and she never removed it. Finally, Darcy switched the Captain America tape back on and lay down beside him. The narrator's voice filled the silence, lulling Clint into a twilight state.

He came back to full awareness when he felt Darcy shift beside him, then roll over against his side. _What the hell?_ Lifting his head, he realized the brunette woman had fallen asleep beside him. and in her sleep, she'd curled against him. Carefully turning onto his side, Clint pulled the blanket over them and rested his arm around Darcy's waist. Closing his eyes, Clint allowed himself to relax and fall asleep again with Darcy tucked against his side.

The sky was still dark when Clint woke hours later, still wrapped comfortably in the Captain America blanket. But the war stories tape had stopped long ago and Darcy was no longer lying next to him. Idly, he wondered how she'd slipped away without his notice.

Sitting up, he stretched out his sore shoulder and scanned the rooftop. No sign of Darcy anywhere. Apparently, she'd slipped away while he was asleep. _Shit. I really, really hope I didn't step in it this time. The last thing I want is to upset Darcy._ He would be the first person to admit that she helped reassure him that things would be okay. Seeing someone who had been through the same kind of hell he had living a normal life gave him hope he could do the same. Well, as normal of a life as he ever had anyway.

Gathering the blanket and beers (the tape player was gone), Clint headed inside the tower. It wasn't really cold outside, but he didn't really see any reason for continuing to hang out on the rooftop. Besides, he had a hammock in his room that was calling his name. Natasha might tease him all the time for having a 'literal nest' in his room, but it was a _comfortable_ nest. One he really wanted to sleep in. But first, the kitchen to drop off the unopened beers.

It wasn't that he couldn't take the beers back to his room; they were his after all. But as Natasha had pointed out, things that went into his room tended to disappear until they started to rot (she was never letting him live down the month-old tuna sandwich she'd found under his bed once). So, to avoid the teasing, he would be good and clean up his mess.

Checking the clock as he entered the kitchen, he wanted to groan. It was almost 3 am. No wonder he was tired. _Alright, put up the beers and get to bed. I'll look for Darcy in the morning; she's probably already gone to bed herself._

Idly, Clint wondered what Darcy's bedroom would _look like_. She seemed to be a Captain America fan, at least in part, but he somehow doubted her whole room would be wallpapered in posters of the hero. Then again, with a mega-fan like Phil (who Clint knew had owned several pairs of Captain America boxers) for a father, it was possible she had a similar love for the Star-Spangled All-American Hero. The idea left a strange taste in Clint's mouth; one that was notably unpleasant. _Okay, that's ridiculous. I am not jealous of Steve just because Darcy might have some kind of fan-crush on the man. She's way too young for me on top of being Phil's daughter. I'm not going there._

He'd just put the last few beers in the fridge when the sound of a quietly shouted 'Yes!' cut through the room. It was a victory shout, no matter how quietly it was made. _What the..._?

Glancing towards the living room, he could just make out the glow of the TV around the edges of the doorway. It was the only light flickering in the otherwise dark room. _Huh, that's weird. No one's ever up this late. Well, except me, Darcy, and occasionally Natasha. And Tony if Pepper isn't around, but then he's in the workshop and not the living room. Jane's up sometimes, but again, she'd be in her lab and not the living room. Especially not at 3 am._

Wrapping the blanket he was still carrying around his shoulders (he'd return it to Darcy tomorrow because sneaking into her bedroom to drop it off was too creepy even for him), Clint crept to the arch leading into the living room and peered around the edge. Darcy was standing in the middle of the room in the same S.H.I.E.L.D sweatpants as before. A tank top like the ones she worked out in had replaced her sweatshirt, which was slung over the back of the couch.

The game 'Iron Man Battle Royal' was splashed across the screen. Tony had sketched up the game idea after the press conference when he announced to the world that he was Iron Man and Stark Industries had pitched the idea not long after. They'd managed to produce the game within a year, though Clint knew Tony had fiddled with the programming on his copy to include other members of the team.

Currently, it was Iron Man on the screen doing a victory dance through the air. Darcy, for her part, was using the downtime to stretch out her arms a little before waving her hand towards the bottom of the screen and returning to the combat menu. Pulling up the character list, she selected another character on the left, then made a second selection from the right list and watched as the game loaded up her choices. Clint actually felt himself blushing a little when the Hawkeye character appeared on one side of the screen and Natasha appeared on the other.

Darcy started to move her arms and legs around in carefully timed motions, directing the Hawkeye character's actions with ease. _Well, she did admit to logging a lot of hours on the game when she was in Norway._ Even so, she was very good with her current character selection. Which was kind of scary because he knew that particular character wasn't in the primary game.

"You can play next if you want." Darcy's voice startled him, making him jump slightly for the second time that day. Well, night. Could he have jumped twice in one day if one incident had happened before midnight and the other after?

"You're thinking loudly again," informed Darcy. The game on the screen froze as Darcy glanced over her shoulder at him, motioning with one hand to the couch. "At least take a seat. You look like a stalker hovering in the doorway like that."

"Good morning to you too," muttered Clint, even as he moved into the room and perched on the back of the couch. "Why are you playing video games at 3 am?"

"Couldn't sleep," replied Darcy, unpausing the game and continuing to kick the digital Natasha's ass with his character. In some strange and twisted way, it was hot.

"You were sleeping pretty well earlier," pointed out Clint, eyes watching her motions. "I'm definitely teaching you to shoot a bow. Seriously, we'll start tomorrow."

"JARVIS said you busted up your shoulder," stated Darcy, slashing her hand though the air. Her breath was coming faster from the exertion. "You don't get to teach me anything until it's better. Fury's orders."

"Good to know Fury can restrict my leisure activities," muttered Clint unhappily, clasping his hands in front of him and leaning forward on his elbows. "Seriously, what happened? You were sleeping soundly earlier."

"Nightmare," replied Darcy, slicing her arms outward. On screen, Hawkeye released a rapid series of arrows. "Nothing new."

"I'm pretty sure I can't actually fire that fast," stated Clint, watching the screen with sharp eyes. "Want to talk about it?"

"You probably could, it's you after all. And no, I don't really want to talk about it." She went through one final series of motions and the digital image of Natasha fell to the ground. On screen, his own digital double did a really stupid victory dance. "But that's not really setting a good example."

"Not really," agreed Clint, still watching his character. "Remind me to complain to Tony about how stupid those victory dances look."

"Noted." Sighing, Darcy dropped onto the couch next to where Clint was perched. For a long moment, she didn't say anything. On the screen, Hawkeye finally stopped doing his stupid dance and the whole image reverted to the menu. Her eyes never left the screen as she spoke. "It wasn't that bad, as far as nightmares go. Well, my nightmares.

"I was back in Bellevue, sitting on that hill and watching the circus set up. I could see that kid with his bow practicing easily, but everyone else was fuzzy. Irrelevant. I'm just watching them when the police sirens start up. And then the police were flooding the circus and arresting everyone and that kid with the bow started running towards me. He raced up the hill in plain view of everyone, but the police ignored him like they couldn't see him. He stopped right in front of me, panting and bent over and, when he looked up, it was you standing there with that bow in hand. I reached out to touch you, to help lead you away from the circus, but before I could touch you someone grabbed my hair and started dragging me away. He pulled me rapidly away from you, shouting at me 'You can't touch people, freak. You aren't allowed to touch people. All you'll do is hurt them!'. I fought and fought, but I couldn't get away. Then, the police came out of nowhere and tackled you to the ground, started to beat you..."

Shivering, Darcy shot back to her feet suddenly, returning her focus to the selection menu on the screen. She keeps Hawkeye as her character selection and chooses the Hulk as an opponent. "That's when I woke up."

Clint wasn't sure what to say. He really wasn't. The idea that anyone might have a nightmare that involves not being able to help him is...weird. Yeah, he's had a lot of dreams about the people he couldn't save, about not being able to save the ones that matter to him. Phil has been a recurring theme recently and is just as common of an occurrence as Natasha, both before and now. But knowing that Darcy had at least one similar dream about him both makes him sick (because he's part of the cause for her fear) and strangely happy (because it shows she cares at least a little).

"That's pretty bad," stated Clint.

Darcy just shrugged as she started going through similar motions as before. On screen, the Hulk roared and charged at Hawkeye. "Like I said, it's not as bad as the others, but it's still bad. Normally, there's blood."

"The bloody ones are the worst," muttered Clint.

"Definitely," agreed Darcy, her motions picking up rapidly as the battle on the screen became more heated.

Clint watched the screen silently for a moment before speaking. "Does talking about it help? The dreams, I mean. It never seemed to before."

"It's hard to say," admitted Darcy. "It helps others understand what's wrong though."

"So, when I do it, it helps you figure out what's bothering me," reasoned Clint slowly. "Then why'd you agree to tell me?"

"Because you needed to hear it," replied Darcy. She paused the game, turning completely to face Clint. "I've told you that I've been through something similar to what you went through, but someone saying 'I know how you feel' and someone being able to say 'this is what happened to me' are two very different things. The second is more powerful, more reassuring. Plus, I can't expect you to talk to me about what happened to you if I don't give you something in return. Part of the recovery is about finding people you trust to help you though. I don't expect you to trust me blindly, but I do want you to trust me at least enough that you feel like you can talk to me. And the best way to do that, is to show you that I've gone through the same thing you're going through now."

"I do trust you enough to talk to you," stated Clint, eyes meeting hers. "It's actually easier than I thought it would be. But it's still..."

"...hard to start," finished Darcy with a sigh, kneeling on the couch beside Clint again. She was facing him this time, her arms resting on the back of the couch beside his hip. "Trust me, I know. It's been years since I had to start facing everything, but I remember how hard it was. I wouldn't even talk to Phil about what happened for the first month I lived with him." Hesitantly, one of her hands reached out to take his. This time though, instead of just her fingers on top of his, she pressed her fingers to his palm and her palm against the back of his hand. "Just talk when you're ready to. I don't expect you to tell me everything at once. Hell, I don't expect you to even tell me everything, period. But I am here to help you discuss whatever you feel you need to discuss."

"Thanks," muttered Clint, closing his fingers over hers. Gently, he squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Clint," assured Darcy. "Anytime you need to talk or want to, come find me. I'll make time to listen, no matter what I'm doing. You can't recover from this alone and no one expects you to."

His thumb brushed over her knuckles slowly, stroking the skin. "You know the reverse applies as well, right? If you need to talk about anything, I'm here."

"Thanks," murmured Darcy quietly, her eyes falling to their hands. "I appreciate that."

Disentangling their fingers, Darcy stood again and unpaused her game once more. Clint silently watched as she started battling the Hulk once more. Her motions were fluid, sharp and accurate. It wasn't until the fight was done (with her as the victor) that he spoke. "Do you ever feel like you should have done more to stop yourself? Fought harder against everything you did?"

"I used to," confirmed Darcy. "There was always that voice saying 'you should have fought harder', 'you hurt people and, if you'd just done more, it wouldn't have happened'." She flicked her wrist, bringing the game back to the main menu again and turned to face Clint once more. "Eventually though, I realized there wasn't much I could have done. At the time, I didn't realize what was happening. Yeah, I knew on some level what I was doing was wrong, but someone was finally showing me kindness. Someone finally wanted me around. And all I wanted was to make that person happy, make them want to keep me around." She shrugged slightly, looking back at the TV and selecting yet another opponent. She didn't start the game though, opting to refocus on Clint once more. "I was so desperate for that approval, for that hint of love, that I was willing to do anything to keep it."

"So what brought you back?" asked Clint curiously. "'Tasha beat me senseless, but I'm guessing that wouldn't work on you."

"No," confirmed Darcy quietly. "Phil is the one who brought me out. He was nice to me one night and expected nothing in return. He would talk to me if he saw me, follow me to make sure I was safe, just simple stuff. It- he was able to make me realize what was going on because he'd been nice to me."

"Kindness is it's own tool," stated Clint. "And it's own weapon."

"Yeah," sighed Darcy, "I know. Phil used it as a tool to gain my trust and, ultimately, it was for the best. I wouldn't be alive today if he hadn't gotten me out. He's the only person I can think of who ever had my best interest at heart."

Clint nodded slowly, eyes sliding back to the screen. "A lot of guys at S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't think Phil cared about much. They always assumed that just because he didn't let what he was feeling show, he wasn't capable of feeling anything." His eyes fell to his hands, thumb running over a scar across his knuckles. He remembered how he got it all too well: some cocky jackass had said something nasty about Phil being a robot; Clint had knocked out several of the man's teeth and been suspended for a week. He probably would have been discharged except Natasha had told Fury what happened. It's the only thing that had saved his hide.

"Is that from when you punched the man who accused Phil of being a brain-washed, careless robot who saw every agent as replaceable?" asked Darcy, her own eyes staring at his hand and the scar etched into his skin.

"Yeah," confirmed Clint.

Darcy smiled a little, reaching out to touch his hand again. This time though, there was less hesitation. Instead, she gently pulled his hand up so she could see the scar for herself. One of her fingers traced the edges for a moment before she brought his knuckles up the rest of the way and kissed the scar. "Thank you."

Well, that was surprising. "Uh, for what?"

"Standing up for Phil," explained Darcy, dropping his hand. "When he told me what happened, I wanted to come to work with him the next day and give you a hug for what you'd done."

Clint chuckled a little. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," confirmed Darcy, her smile turning sad. "He wouldn't let me because he didn't want me involved in S.H.I.E.L.D., but I still wanted to thank you for that somehow. I ended up getting your address from Fury and sending you a stuff penguin that said 'Thank you' on it."

"Wait, that was you?" asked Clint in surprise. "I always thought that was Phil because the penguin had a Captain America costume."

"I was really into Captain America back then," confessed Darcy, a bit of a blush crossing her cheeks as she ducked her head.

He had to admit, her blush was adorable. It made her look so much younger, it was hard to imagine this was the same woman that could strong-arm Jane around or survive as an intern at Stark Industries. Then again, there were times he'd looked at Phil and been unable to reconcile the man he was seeing with the cool-under-pressure badass ninja of S.H.I.E.L.D. "It's cute, but where did you find it?"

"Uh, I kind of made it." Her admission was quiet, but Clint could hear her clear as day.

"Really?" asked Clint, more than a little surprised. He wouldn't have guessed it was hand made. Custom yes; hand made, no. "Wow, you did an amazing job."

"Thanks," muttered Darcy quietly, blush intensifying.

It made him smile a little. One of his hands rose to rub at the back of his neck a little nervously. "Um, not to be weird or anything, but I actually still have it."

Darcy's head snapped up, eyes wide. "Really?"

"Yeah," confirmed Clint, a bit of his own blush appearing on his cheeks. "I named him Captain Ameriguin. He lives on my bed, whatever that happens to be at the moment. I even carry him on missions sometimes. Phil usually holds onto him if things are dangerous though. Er-" he paused, realizing the error in what he said. "I guess I mean Phil used to hold onto him for me. Guess I can't take him in the field anymore."

"That's alright," assured Darcy gently, offering Clint a smile. "I can always watch him for you."

"Bring him to me if I'm in medical or after a bad mission?" asked Clint, the smile returning a little to his face.

Darcy's smile turned into a smirk as she stood again, flicking her wrist to start the match. "Only if I get to take pictures of you cuddling a penguin doll in medical."

"I'm pretty sure 'Tasha already has those," stated Clint. "Phil used to bring it up as a way of getting me to actually _stay _in medical. But if you want more, go ahead. I'm not ashamed to admit that I like to cuddle."

"Hmm," hummed Darcy, arm slashing through the air. "So that's how I ended up curled against you earlier."

"Hey!" objected Clint, voice light. He was going to tease her a little; it was the first chance he'd had so far. "Don't pin that on me. You're the one who cuddled up against me."

Darcy froze. Completely froze in the middle of the match. She didn't even pause the game, which meant Loki was able to start beating her character into the ground. It actually made Hawkeye wince. Before he could comment though, she canceled the match and returned the game to it's main screen. "If you want to play, go ahead. I'm going to get some sleep. Goodnight."

Clint watched as Darcy practically ran out of the room, only pausing long enough to grab her S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatshirt. Mentally, he could barely process that she was leaving before she was just gone. _What the hell was that about?_


End file.
